Caribbean Mornings
by PeiPei
Summary: It may prove dangerous when you try to cheat Commodore Norrington, Lieutenant Groves, Lieutenant Gillette, Governor Swann and Jack Sparrow at the same time. COMPLETE. The fic is finished, the story is to be continued.
1. Breakfast with Gibbs

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney.  
  
A/N: 1) Technically this fic is a sequel to my two previous fics, "A Look on Helen's Face" and "The Serpent and the Spider", but it can stand on its own. 2) Escovitch is a Spanish/Portuguese method of marinating seafood, prevalent in Jamaican cuisine. 3) Johnny-bread is a kind of cornmeal pancake, quite popular in the Caribbean.  
  
I  
  
I wake up and sit even before the tiny hand touches me. A little boy with a wild thatch of dark hair gasps and freezes, looking at me. I smile at him to calm him down.  
  
"Th-the old man Gibbs is downstairs," he whispers.  
  
"Oh, good. And what is he doing?"  
  
"He's eating his breakfast... escovitch fish, and bread, and... Haven't heard what else..."  
  
"Good. What is he drinking?"  
  
"Ale."  
  
"Which one? First? Second?"  
  
"Was drinking the first one when I was there."  
  
"Very good, Jimmy," I say yawning.  
  
He scowls at me. Oh well, I know. You're awake because you want your sixpence that I've promised you for guarding Gibbs, and you're afraid that I won't keep my promise.  
  
"Here," I say, throwing him the coin. He catches it and suddenly beams with joy, and now I notice how bright the whole room is. It's dusty and unkempt, its only colours being shades of grey, but even its opaque window-panes can't hide the glory of this morning, when the sun changes the bed, chairs, table and walls into pure gold, and even my little lute, with its graceful neck leaned upon the chair's back, seems to open its almost-living rosette in the sunrays.  
  
I squint my eyes, unable to bear all this richness, and I turn slightly to the side to look at the black hair of the woman sleeping by me, but even this patch of dark is full of golden flickers. Ah, how many mornings like that have I seen here in the Caribbean?  
  
I free myself gently from the plump arm's embrace.  
  
"What do you think, Jimmy," I ask ruffling my hair, "should we wake your mom as well?"  
  
"I dunno," he murmurs. "Do you need her again?"  
  
"No, I don't," I say. "She has every right to sleep till evening. And I should be sleeping too, to tell the truth, but I have work to do."  
  
"When she has guests in the night, she can sleep in the morning," says Jimmy quietly, looking at his bare feet.  
  
"That's all I wanted to know. Listen, Jimmy, run for some water for me, will you? There's a penny to your collection."  
  
I pretend not to notice the suspicious look he gives me before leaving the room. He's jealous and anxious about his mother, but he wants to earn some money nonetheless and it's why he's still quite civil to me. There is nothing but understanding for his state of mind in me, for Jimmy's childhood is a sad distortion of my own disorderly happy one.  
  
When I'm dressed, I go to look out the window. It must be quite late already, judging from the sun. Some black woman is washing clothes by the well, the hens are walking proudly around, the Red Stocking's servants are running to and fro, carrying milk, ale and water. Ah, yes, it's the same tavern where I met Commodore Norrington some time ago, and maybe it's the same room that we kissed (or rather I kissed him, for that matter) - I don't know, for I was drunk and feverish at the time. I wanted to pay him back for the unimaginable kindness he showed me: he bought me a meal, and he didn't arrest me even though he knew that he should. But my honest offer was all in vain, because it came out that the Commodore would rather have Jack Sparrow than me. Yet it wasn't entirely out of gratitude for Norrington that I vowed to myself to bring Sparrow to him, it was also because I wanted to meet the man who killed my Captain, and to try to make him suffer as he has made me.  
  
I'm back in Port Royal now, after my rather unfortunate encounter with Sparrow. I was working for him on the Black Pearl, the ship at which he grabbed promptly after my Captain's death, just like vultures grab at the fresh carcass. But Sparrow isn't stupid and he realized that I'm too different from his good-natured crew; and it's only through sheer luck that I've escaped with my life. I feel the net tighten around me - Sparrow's friends are now aware of me, and Norrington has got enough time to enquire who I am, and he probably wouldn't let Captain Barbossa's accomplice escape; yet I have to meet both Norrington and Sparrow again.  
  
Things got complicated and dangerous, but I'm not a novice, and I feel that I can win if I play my cards carefully. And besides, I'm not in a mood to worry on this fresh morning, when everything is gold that glitters - just like my last morning here, when I was taking a French leave with...  
  
"Oh, is that a pistol?"  
  
... with Commodore Norrington's pistol up my breeches.  
  
"Aye, Jimmy, that's a pistol. Thanks for the water."  
  
I must support the water-jug immediately, for Jimmy can't be bothered to place it properly on the table. Ah, little boys.  
  
"C-can I hold it?"  
  
"Here," I say giving him the pistol. "Barrel down, please. And no, don't touch this thing, or I'll take it away. I must wash myself, don't have time to keep my eye on you."  
  
He sighs.  
  
"Are you going to kill Gibbs?"  
  
"Of course not. Give me that cloth."  
  
He hands me over a linen cloth that may have been called a towel in its better days.  
  
"Alright, enough of your pistol worship, Jimmy," I say, snatching the pistol from him as well. He's a bright boy, God knows what might get into his head. "Tell your mom that I'll be back in the afternoon, should she worry."  
  
Jimmy puffs out his cheeks and scowls at me again.  
  
"Why are you coming back to her?"  
  
"Why, because I like to."  
  
"Do you like her?"  
  
"Sure I do," I say, reaching for the door-knob.  
  
"Other women are laughing at her," he murmurs, not looking at me. "Saying she's too fat. Becky, and Nelly, and Cathy... They..."  
  
"Look, Jimmy," I say impatiently, "why are you listening to them? There are men who would choose your mother BECAUSE she isn't as skinny as them, and they are just jealous. Your mother is pretty - there are various kinds of prettiness, and it's what makes the world interesting. And these girls don't know anything, sitting all the time here, and I've seen the world. You'd better listen to me than to them."  
  
I shut the door quietly and go downstairs, paying attention to loose steps and cracking handrails. Oh, the Red Stocking is as ugly as before, as there's not a single sunray on the staircase. I wouldn't have chosen this sorry shack, if not for my main purpose now, which is spying on Gibbs.  
  
Poor Gibbs! I know Sparrow was really reluctant to let him go to Port Royal. I was forced to take a little girl hostage to escape from the entire crew of the Black Pearl (not that they posed any serious threat to me, except maybe for Anamaria), when they were dining in the Tres Morillas tavern in Tortuga, and then they searched the island for me, but time was running out and they had to give up. They were ready to continue their journey to Cancun, but Gibbs - God bless him - begged Sparrow to let him visit his sister in Port Royal. She was so worried about him, he hadn't seen her for such a long time! It was so cruel to leave poor old Sophie like that, she will perish from anxiety! Oh, Captain, she's alone with no kind soul to open her heart to, and she is a poor cripple, she is stuttering and her right leg is shorter, yet she has to work hard, day and night, for some pampered, selfish lady... I was splitting my sides, when little Antonia, my former hostage, who visited me in the old haunted barn, was telling me all that rubbish, mimicking Gibbs' hoarse voice and his round eyes full of concern.  
  
How could good 'Captain' Sparrow not grant his faithful friend's request? He allowed him to go to Port Royal, and I went after him. And here we are, me sitting in the darkest place, near the door, and Gibbs seated in the middle of the Red Stocking's main room, almost empty in the morning, with dirty jugs and leftovers in the corners and sleepy servants pretending that they're cleaning yesterday's mess. Some apathetic hens are wandering shyly around the entrance, not daring to venture further. The intense light of the morning is hardly allowed to leak in through small windows, and the stinky memories of the past night still rule here.  
  
There are some lonely guests, sitting here and there, so I'm not so conspicuous as I feared I would be. The Red Stocking's girls are trying to pick up some clients, but mostly out of habit, for they're tired and they are saving themselves for tonight. It's Saturday, and in the evening all sorts of guests fill the Red Stocking. It was Saturday night when when I met Norrington here, as well, and I'm waiting for him just as the doxies are waiting for their sweethearts. I must talk to Norrington tonight...  
  
Gibbs is finishing his third ale (if my calculation is right), and he's talking to a small bunch of fellows he befriended last night, seemingly petty sea-thieves, watermen and fishermen. Their table is the noisiest in the whole tavern; they are pushing the tinker plates with their elbows, gurgling down the ale like they've just returned from the desert, and burping loudly. I hate myself for listening to this scum. Why are they spoiling such a fine morning? At least they are able to calm down when Gibbs starts to speak; it's clear that they respect him greatly.  
  
"Well, mate," he replies to some question from a skinny bearded man in a straw hat, "if you wish, you may come with me to Tortuga. You won't be disappointed, I can guarantee ye that."  
  
"Nah, mate, ye don't have to guarantee me nothin'. I know all too well that these who sail under Captain Sparrow's command can call themselves lucky," the fellow replies politely.  
  
"Oh, listen, he says he's one of them Captain Sparrow's crew," exclaims pretty Nelly, who is sitting next to me, pressing her white-stockinged leg to me and pretending that it's only out of absent-mindedness. "I'd never call him a pirate."  
  
"Well, love, there's not much of pirate spirit in any of Sparrow's crew," I say pouring her some of my ale. "Just witness how good-natured old Gibbs looks."  
  
"That's true," Nelly says, drawing yet nearer to me, her fair locks touching my cheek. "I've always imagined them big and severe-looking, and with pistols and beards, and big hats. And they won't be talking to the likes of this scarecrow in the morning."  
  
"Never seen a pirate before?"  
  
"No," she says. "I was born here, in Port Royal, and Commodore Norrington and Governor Swann have managed to get rid of real pirates in these waters. Last time they came was months ago, when Barbossa attacked the town, but that's the only case I remember. And Barbossa is dead and he will never come back."  
  
"And Jack Sparrow with his Pearl will never attack Port Royal, or any other town, like a pirate should," I say.  
  
"Why do you think a pirate should attack any town?" asks Nelly, suddenly discontented.  
  
"Why, because he's no pirate if he doesn't," I say smiling. "Simple, isn't it?"  
  
She shudders.  
  
"I never want to encounter a pirate who'd be any more piratey than uncle Gibbs, then," she says.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure you're not going to," I assure her, covering her hand with mine.  
  
"No, we ain't going to sail south of Tortuga," says Gibbs to his audience. "Ain't goin' to pester honest folks livin' on these shores. We want to repair the Black Pearl's reputation, jus' as we repaired her black sails."  
  
I try to suppress a laugh and I almost spit in my ale. Aw, blimey, Gibbs's going to kill me early in the morning.  
  
"W-what's wrong with you?" asks Nelly with anxiety.  
  
"Nothing big, love. I'm just tired."  
  
"After the night, I know," she says half-playfully, half-reproachfully. "Why did you have to take Fat Elsie with you? She sucks men's life forces out."  
  
"Oh, it's not so bad," I say, laying my head on the table and looking into Nelly's bright grey eyes, "I still have some left..."  
  
But she eyes me with suspicion and pretends that she doesn't understand me; she wants me to declare myself more clearly. I smile and don't move, for I only pretend that I have any interest in her. She seems pretty demanding and quite jealous, and I haven't got enough time to play with touchy girls now. Still, I don't want to offend her, so I don't let her take away her soft hand.  
  
"Ah, mate, that be a hard task," says Scarecrow's pal, a round fellow in too-tight breeches, with a web eye that makes him appear less intelligent than he in fact is. "Ev'rybody in the Spanish Main would be runnin' away just at the name of the ship. She was a curse of these waters for more than ten years. The only way to improve her repute is to change her name for good."  
  
You have a point, Web Eye. The Pearl won't be the Black Pearl under Sparrow's command anymore. Or he should change her name to White Pearl, Castitatis Lilium or Immaculata, for all I know. She was black and fearsome only when my Captain was guiding her through the Caribbean waters. Now she's become nothing more than a safe haven for the mellow harbour folk who want to earn money without sailing too near the wind, and a cradle for innocent tales.  
  
"No, I don't think it's a good idea," says Gibbs plainly. "A good idea is to have decent sailors aboard, that's what we'd call a good idea. And since that devil Barbossa is gone, we're on the right course, I'd say. It can only get better now without his foul shadow around."  
  
I feel my head and fingers becoming cold, and my eyes go to Gibbs. Hey, uncle, I beg of you, watch your mouth! You're lucky that you have an account in my book, and that it's a beautiful morning, and that I'm sober and in a good mood - but don't insult my Captain's memory in my presence, for I may well forget why I am here. God is good, but don't dance in a currach, as the Irish say.  
  
"Eh, ye may be pretty sure yer safe from him now," says some smaller fellow with a perky nose, who was devouring the fish with his head almost hidden in the plate.  
  
"From him, maybe, but not from his minions," says Gibbs in what he probably thinks is a whisper. "Would ye believe, mateys, there are still some out here."  
  
"Hah, I believe ye, Mr Gibbs," says Web Eye, laughing. "There's a strange gossip going around. I mean, ye all know this big black beast that was Barbossa's right hand?"  
  
"An' he was his Bo'sun, so he was called Bo'sun..." Scarecrow murmurs.  
  
"Aye, Bo'sun was how he was called. So, people are saying that he has been seen here and there. On the Windward Islands. I've met a fellow who swears he's seen Bo'sun on Martinique."  
  
My stupid heart is beating wildly like a Turkish drum. Wait!... If Bo'sun is alive, then there is a chance... a shadow of a chance, but still a chance...  
  
"Bah, a Negro," snorts Nelly. "Why would a great captain choose a Negro for his right hand? No doubt he was killed by Captain Sparrow!"  
  
I narrow my eyes looking at her plain white face. Ah, girl, what do you know about a true value of a man?  
  
"Aw, that's just a mill-house story, mate," says Gibbs, waving his hand impatiently. "If Bo'sun is alive, Barbossa could be alive as well, and we'd have their breaths already on our backs. And as for now, we have only one Barbossa's man who's alive and kicking, but it's for sure, 'cause I've been talkin' to him just as I'm talkin' to you now, and he's just slipped from among our fingers when we were stayin' in Tortuga."  
  
"Ye mean, ye let him escape?" asks the little fellow that loves to eat fish.  
  
Ah, let's hear what fairy-tale uncle Gibbs has to tell about yours truly.  
  
"And what would you do, man? The bastard took a lil' girl hostage! Grabbed her from her chair by her neck, like a kitten, so that she was danglin' in the air - we all thought he'd strangle her on the spot, but no - shouted at her to open her mouth... the poor child opens her mouth, so he can force his gun's barrel into it, and he says to us, 'if you don't fall on your knees with your hands in the air, I swear on all the forces of hell, I'll blow this pup's brains out, so help me God.'"  
  
I'm drinking my next ale - no, I won't pass this morning being sober, it seems - being careful not to choke myself from laughter. Nelly covers her mouth with her hand, utterly horrified.  
  
"So what would you do in our place, I ask ye?" Gibbs continues, delighted with his companions, who are rendered speechless by his tale. "The girl's mother, poor woman, who loved her more than anything in the world - it was her only child, ye know - lost her senses already and was lying in my arms, so there wasn't even anybody to beg for the girl's life. But then, our Captain Sparrow orders us not to move, lest the scum hurt the girl, and says only, 'I'll kill you, Ritchie Brown, I swear, but if you hurt the girl, I'll do it slowly.' And let's hope he'll keep his promise..."  
  
"Oh God," blubbers one of the tavern girls, "did he hurt her?"  
  
"Eh, well," says Gibbs, frowning, "not entirely... she returned home in the night... But anyway, she changed for the worse, started to spit at everybody and kick and scratch, especially at the owners of the tavern. And her mother is trying to make her living there, so ye can imagine, it's all pretty hard for her."  
  
Brave Antonia, I think, hiding my smile in the jug.  
  
"Wait," says Scarecrow, "I don't know the git's name at all. Was he with Barbossa all these years?"  
  
"Yeah, mate, it tells ye've never showed your nose out of Jamaica," says Web Eye, patting Scarecrow on his back. "Ritchie Brown, I remember him. The youngest of Barbossa's crew, and a whoreson of the deepest dye... the crew all hated him, but Barbossa had a soft spot for him. If he's still around, then I'd believe that he's got as many lives as a cat. I didn't know that he was with Barbossa all these years."  
  
What a morning, I think, first my Captain gets his share, now it's poor Ritchie's turn. I have to endure all this bashing anyway, as it proves once more that honour and profit lie not in one sack.  
  
"No, he wasn't," says Gibbs shaking his head. "He cleared out of the Caribbean before the curse. Our Captain said he'd heard of him from his good mate, Bootstrap Bill... the one that Barbossa killed after the mutiny."  
  
Ah, so that's how Bootstrap ended. Oh well. I'm not going to weep after him. Hm, wait... so Sparrow knew who I was from the beginning?...  
  
"Was he Bootstrap's friend as well?" Scarecrow asks.  
  
"Oh no," Gibbs laughs. "From what Captain Sparrow said, Bill and Ritchie were at daggers drawn from the beginning till the end. No wonder, 'cause Bill was truly a paragon of a good pirate, and he wouldn't keep company with such scum as Ritchie." He sighs. "'Tis so sad to see that the bad seed is still growing whilst the good one had been ripped."  
  
"Don't worry, mate," Web Eye says. "'Tis true that ill vessels seldom miscarry, but he's alone and fer all I know, he'd better not show himself in Port Royal, or he'll find himself in rough water. Our Royal Navy here ain't got no tolerance for the remnants of Barbossa's crew."  
  
"Ah, I do hope so, but I don't need no Royal Navy to take care of me. For you know, Captain Sparrow was of a mind that Ritchie's comin' to Port Royal after me."  
  
His comrades laugh, but Nelly is shuddering by my side.  
  
"I w-wonder what that Ritchie Brown looks like," she whispers to me. "I'm afraid he'd come to the Red Stocking to kill poor uncle Gibbs, because Gibbs is now alone as well."  
  
"No, love, he's not stupid, he wouldn't come here. Don't be afraid. And if he does, just run straight to me," I say, showing her my pistol, and she clings to me without a word.  
  
"Hey, Gibbs, mate, how does he looks like?" asks the small fellow who ate all the fish.  
  
Gibbs purses his lips and thinks for a while. He's clearly hesitant to tell them that I'm not, in fact, very impressive-looking.  
  
"We-ell," he says slowly, "he's quite tall and eh, w-well built. And quite strong, yeah. I've told you he carried a nine-year-old child out of the tavern holdin' her in one hand." He sighs and looks sadly at the empty plates, and then his look changes from sad to anxious.  
  
"Awww, forgive me, mateys," he says scratching his head. "I forgot. Have to go an' see me old sister."  
  
I look over to find little Jimmy, who is washing dishes and raises his head watchfully. I wink at him.  
  
"Run after Gibbs," I whisper, giving him another coin, "and tell me which way he took. I'll be waiting here."  
  
"Where are you going?" asks Nelly, seeing me adjust my hat slowly.  
  
"Just to stretch out in such a glorious morning," I say, kissing her on the ear.  
  
"Will you be back soon?"  
  
"Ah, I guess I will," I say, not adding that I'll be back for Fat Elsie and not for her.  
  
Gibbs is rather unaccustomed to walking fast and he hasn't managed to get far yet, when I go out of the Red Stocking. His steps are slow, he resembles a slightly dizzy bear that's been taught to walk and even to dance, but he still feels unsure of his abilities and would rather go back into the wilderness. He is parading through the busy streets with pride and he doesn't pay any attention to what's going around him - he apparently doesn't feel any fear, although being a deserter and a pirate he most definitely should. It seems that he regards himself as a thoroughly honest man who never did any harm to another honest man, and his self-confident appearance just gives away the long years spent at sea in the hard labour on merchant and Navy ships - nothing more and nothing less. He doesn't have the slightest suspicion that I could have followed him to Port Royal. He simply doesn't think it possible that anyone in the world would want to hurt him now. I don't have to hide myself from him so much, for he wouldn't believe his own eyes if he saw me in the Red Stocking or now in the street; there's almost no chance that he'd notice me.  
  
I wonder if he notices the splendour of this morning that seems to feed on the street pedlars' cries, and to swell with the savoury smells of fried fish, bammy pancakes, baked chicken and the ubiquitous Johnny-bread... He's heading to the house, where his precious sister is serving some 'pampered lady', and he doesn't stop to look at street fights nor at street singers, so much he is determined in his pursuit of his little smelly family warmth. As if he really needs it in the generous warmth of the Caribbean morning that embraces us all, foes and friends, villains and decent folk alike.  
  
He stops in front of a small villa. I slow down, looking for a safe place to hide. I want to hear and see as much as possible, and my eyes fall on the walls of a garden on the opposite side of the street. The walls are crumbling, bougainvillea, jasmine and nightshades hold sway over the deep dark garden. There is a house there too, and it looks abandoned, with its shutters hanging hopelessly from the empty windows. Ah, what a nice friendly place for me, I think, taking cover in the garden in the corner of the garden and peeping out at the street.  
  
Gibbs takes a deep breath. He's reluctant to knock and stands by the gate for a while, sighing heavily and shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks like a little boy afraid of his mother's scolding. Finally he grabs the knocker, and after a few pulls the gate opens.  
  
I can't see the person who is greeting Gibbs with wild, teary exclamations and questions, but from the timbre of the voice I guess that it's Gibbs' sister herself. To my greatest dismay, she doesn't invite Gibbs inside. They stand by the gate, and she is explaining something with great difficulty - it seems she's stuttering quite heavily, and being moved to tears doesn't help her. I can only recognize that she's speaking about visitors that her lady is awaiting tonight.  
  
Gibbs nods and promises to come tomorrow, after the Sunday mass. Then he leans forward to kiss his sister loudly, and the gate closes again. Gibbs stands before it for a moment, just like he did before knocking, and sighs, with great, genuine relief this time. I wonder why he is so anxious - when I was working with him on the Black Pearl, it was quite obvious to me that he holds his sister in great affection and yearns to see her... oh well, I will figure it out tomorrow. It's even better that I don't have to set a watch on Gibbs tonight, therefore being able to devote my time to making love to Fat Elsie and to talking to Norrington.  
  
When Gibbs sets off to go back to the Red Stocking, and I snuggle out of the hole in the garden wall, ready to go after him, a familiar tune flows out of the villa's windows. I halt in my steps as if held by a spell, for I recognize the instrument. It may sound like a lute or a mandolin to unaccustomed ears, but not to mine; I know it, it's a Turkish baglama, and I know the melody as well.  
  
No, wait, it's impossible, I try to assure myself. No one would be playing the "Mandira" tune in English Port Royal, no, no one. You must be mistaken, you must have drunk too much ale this morning... ah, but it must be it. I recognize not only the instrument and the tune, but even this light tapping on the box is familiar to me. Ah, but if even the rumours of Bo'sun being alive are spreading everywhere, why can't I meet here somebody who has to be alive and well anyway?  
  
The unhurriedly increased tempo tells me that the musician is deep in thought and just follows the line, knowing that the sorrows will be finally sorted with this persistent, patient melody. It seems that my own fears and hopes will get sorted tomorrow as well... or I must get sober as quickly as possible.  
  
tbc 


	2. Rejoice unto the Lord!

Disclaimer: As in the previous chapter.  
  
A/N: 1) I've used the Collect/Epistle/Gospel prescribed for the 8th Sunday after Trinity. 2) Galata is the old district of Istanbul, inhabited mainly by Greeks.  
  
I'd like to thank all my lovely reviewers in order of their appearance on the review board ;) Bren Eldrid Bera: welcome back, dear! I'm glad you like this one. Alori Kesi Aldercy: thank you for your kind words. As for your questions: no, the narrator is not Will, he's an OC. Why did he kiss Norrington? Well, I suppose that "why not?" would be the shortest answer, but if you want a more detailed one, I suggest that you read "A Look on Helen's Face". Alteng: thank you so much for your constant support! I'm sorry for delay in reviewing recently, but let me assure you I'm always looking forward to Pintel and Ragetti's new adventures ;) BlackJackSilver: I simply don't know what to say; thank you so much for the review of "The Pearls", I really appreciate it. I'm happy you like my little stories, and let me assure you that I respect your writing greatly.  
  
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II  
  
I cover Fat Elsie with a blanket, kiss Nelly on the cheek - she pushes me away - and run down the stairs. The bells are calling me, I'm almost late, late to the Lord's Supper.  
  
"Hey, Jimmy, a shilling for you for guarding Gibbs this morning!"  
  
"Where are you going?" he asks suspiciously. Ah yes, I look nothing like the usual guests at the Red Stocking. I had my clothes washed and my boots cleaned. I have a good soft cloak and a fine Holland shirt, and lo, my hat has feathers, much though I loathe them. I can be taken for a proper gentleman and I want to be taken for such, for I have to mix with the Port Royal's aristocracy today.  
  
"Oh, you can tell your mom I went to church," I say, "and that I will be back soon."  
  
I leave little Jimmy blinking with surprise, and I laugh to myself as I walk through sunny Sunday streets. Such a splendid bright morning greets me here again, and again I have to sacrifice it, sitting in a damp and dark place that people have built in order to run away from the true beauty of the world, the beauty and splendour that scares them, because it surpasses their understanding.  
  
But I look forward to this morning, for at least it won't be wasted listening to Gibbs' rubbish. I'm going to meet Commodore Norrington, who didn't show up in the Red Stocking yesterday evening, thereby worrying me greatly. I don't know if it was me who scared Norrington out of the tavern at our first meeting, during which I guessed his fancy for Sparrow all too easily, or if I'm flattering myself - but I have to convince the Commodore to go back to the Red Stocking. How am I supposed to bring Sparrow to him now, since he has abandoned his drinking habits? A tavern is the only place where an officer of the Royal Navy can safely meet a pirate.  
  
Except for a church, maybe.  
  
I've always been of opinion that churches and taverns are much alike - people gather there to forget their daily worries, and be it by prayer or by drink, they go home intoxicated all the same, the only difference being that they prefer churches in the mornings and taverns at night.  
  
I try to look through the Sunday crowd of St. Peter's Church - they seem to pay as much attention to their attire as the Red Stocking's Saturday customers - to find Norrington. As a respectable gentleman of high standing, he should be seen at the Sunday mass; his religious observance is my only hope now. I cannot pay him a visit in Fort Charles or his house, and I'd rather not risk meeting him outside, for he surely won't have any scruples against about arresting me this time. He hates pirates not only out of duty, but also personally, and especially Captain Barbossa's crew - his ex-fiancee was kidnapped by them. I should be careful with the Commodore now, and truth be told, I wish he weren't too merciful, for I count on his sense of duty in dealing with Jack Sparrow, after all.  
  
It seems I'm really lucky this morning, because the service hasn't begun yet. The irresolute organ sounds fly over the heads of the crowd, the common folk in the back, under the choir, and the white wigs in the front rows. I don't have a wig, but my curly hair isn't bad either, I think, and I'm dressed very nicely, am I not, ladies?... Oh, this petite blonde with a little mole on her right cheek is so sweet when she blushes, and her pale companion, who gives me a deep, long look from under heavy lids, is worthwhile too, with those proud breasts in the delicate frame of a crimped frill. That's why I'd like to go to church more, if only I had time!  
  
I'm beginning to consider staying in the back row, behind my beauties - I will find Norrington later... the blonde holds her handkerchief ready to be dropped - when I see them both frown, and the old lady who came with them takes them into her protective embrace, shielding them from some unwanted sight; the beauties seem disgusted, but quite unhealthily fascinated as well.   
  
I follow their indignant gazes to see a petite lady passing by, obviously in order to take a seat in the rows on the left. She is dressed in a heavy embroidered gown in a pale shade of gold, her hair is adorned with expensive Brussels lace, and there would be nothing extraordinary about her, if she weren't so lively, being so heavily pregnant.  
  
My beauties purse their lips, and I feel very curious about this tiny woman; the way she's moving is strangely familiar to me. Who is she and why are the high-born ladies so interested in her? She has turned her back to us, so I can't see her face. Is she alone here, without any servant, in her state?... It's not right... no, wait, there's her servant - an old woman is following her steps, but she can't keep up with her mistress; she seems crippled, and moreover, deadly intimidated by all these unfriendly glares around. Aww, I'm reminded what a crowd means once again, and my beauties seem to be just one with the flock. Very well, little blonde, keep your handkerchief to yourself, I'll take a look at the lady you despise so much, maybe she'll need some help...  
  
...and she needs it sooner than I think, for she stumbles suddenly before entering the second row on the left. I'm too far away to catch her, and so is her old servant, but fortunately some tall gentleman in a brocade waistcoat supports her firmly, but with all reverence that a gentleman is due owes to a lady - the very moment she regains her balance, he steps aside with a respectful bow, still holding her hand, in case she needs his help again. I smile at the sight of his handsome, serious features - you didn't disappoint me, Commodore, thank you!  
  
He escorts her politely to her seat, and she curtsies gracefully, turning her head a little, just so that I can see her sweetly reddened ear and long lashes... a glimpse of dark cherry lips, a high-bridged nose... am I drunk or what?...   
  
Is that you, Inci, my little devil, my love? But you should be in London!... No, I know it's you, it must have been you who played the "Mandira" tune yesterday, you and nobody else. I know these irregular full lips and these tarry eyes that squint oh so slightly, I couldn't forget them since our first meeting in the merciless street of Galata, when I was thirteen and you were eight, and I assure you I won't forget them till... whatever, I won't forget them easily.  
  
What are you doing here in Port Royal? Ah well, it's been a long time, nearly three years since our last meeting... no wonder things have changed. How happy I am to see you in jewels and velvet, laces and brocade! Whose fortune are you crunching on now? Who wrapped you in this pale golden gown, who gave you these heavy earrings and Brussels lace for your thick dark tresses, and whom do you have to please, going to the Anglican church? Come on, my sweet one, look here, look at me!...  
  
Or no, better not, not now. I know that you won't be happy to see me here. I mean trouble to you, and you could be rather dangerous when pregnant. I'd better talk to Norrington, it's high time - the mass has just begun.   
  
My luck doesn't leave me today, thanks to my decent clothes perhaps, and I'm able to find a place next to my pistol's previous owner. I kneel piously, waiting for Norrington to finish the Lord's Prayer. When the Collect comes - "Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known" - he raises his head.  
  
He doesn't look well, to be honest. His face seems thinner than I remembered, his eyes dull and tired, and I can see that he wants to be alone before God, hiding his seemingly dark thoughts with all his might. The world he is living in probably feels painfully cold and full of torment, and he seeks peace here, among candles and solemn music and incense smell. No, James, mate, your peace is elsewhere.  
  
"Good day to you, Commodore," I whisper.  
  
He turns his head to look at me and frowns disapprovingly; he doesn't recognize me at first. No wonder, for my clothes don't resemble that odd Chinese jacket he saw on me in the Red Stocking, nor do I resemble my previous sick and drunken self. I have to smile at him to see his eyes widen.  
  
"Ritchie... Ritchie Brown?"  
  
"Oh, yes, that's my name. How nice that you remembered it."  
  
There is a certain coldness in his gaze, and the tiredness in his face seems to deepen.  
  
"What do you think you're doing here?"  
  
"I came to visit you, of course. We have to..."  
  
"'We'?! 'We' don't have to do anything, Ritchie. I have to arrest you, and YOU have to run away, if you want to save your skin. Now."  
  
"Ah, please. It's Sunday and we're in a church. How could you send a man to the scaffold on Sunday, of all days? Where's your conscience?"  
  
"Think of your own conscience, won't you? There is much more blood on your hands than I thought. How dare you to show yourself here? Do you know what's on your record? Not only theft and murder..."  
  
"Sorry to interrupt you, but really, Commodore, we have serious issues to discuss. The first is your drinking problem, and the second, which is closely related to the first, is Jack Sparrow."  
  
"Would you please shut up?" he asks quietly, but desperately enough to make me feel sorry for him. I hang my head.  
  
It seems that the minister is still at the Ten Commandments.  
  
"Thou shalt do no murder."  
  
"Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law," Norrington says, not looking at me. I sigh. Oh well, I'll try to behave myself.  
  
"Thou shalt not commit adultery."  
  
"Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law," I say in my most innocent voice.   
  
Norrington throws me a nervous glance.  
  
"Thou shalt not steal."  
  
"Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law," I say.   
  
Norrington sighs.  
  
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour."  
  
"Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law."  
  
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his servant, nor his maid, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is his."  
  
"Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline..."  
  
"Do you have to mock my faith here, Ritchie?" he asks angrily, still not looking at me.  
  
"It's my faith as well, Commodore. We Catholics have exactly the same Ten Commandments, only we say them in Latin."  
  
"It's not an appropriate place for your worldly-wise talk. Tell me what you want, and be off. If you don't want to be arrested, that is."  
  
"As I said, we have to talk about you, Jack Sparrow, and the Red Stocking."  
  
"The Red Stocking?" He's mildly surprised.  
  
"You've quit drinking, Commodore. That's very bad."  
  
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he speaks, I can hear how tired and indifferent he is. I've never heard such a flat, broken voice.  
  
"Don't try my patience. Do you have to disturb me in this sacred place?"  
  
"Don't you understand? It seems that you don't go to the Red Stocking anymore. I was waiting for you yesterday, but you didn't come."  
  
"Yes, you're right. I don't drink, and I don't frequent the Red Stocking anymore. In fact, I was looking for a good reason to quit spending my Saturday evenings there. I don't know why, but it became a nasty habit of mine. I ought to thank you for that," he says, not even bothering to smile; but there is still no trace of enmity in this empty voice. It's as if someone else were speaking, someone who doesn't even care about James Norrington's affairs.  
  
"Oh, I suppose I should feel honoured, but do you know what, Commodore? I don't. You ruin not only my plans, but also your own happiness."  
  
"You're trying to amuse me, but let me assure you..."  
  
"Commodore, listen to me, we don't have much time to chatter. You're going to spend every Saturday night in the Red Stocking from now on, waiting for one Jack Sparrow, who's going to come there and meet you soon. You have my word... you probably can't trust it now, but you eventually will. I don't ask for much. Just be in the Red Stocking next Saturday."  
  
It's the first time he lets that apathetic expression slip. He turns to look at me, his eyes enormously big, his lips pale. I feel almost scared. What if he's sick? Is he going to faint here or what?  
  
He must have seen fear in my face, because he blinks repeatedly, trying not to look panicky. He fails. I don't know what to say, and the forgotten sound of the minister's words gets in between us.  
  
"O God, whose never-failing providence ordereth all things both in heaven and earth; we humbly beseech thee to put away from us all hurtful things, and to give us those things which be profitable for us..."  
  
"Commodore," I say cheerfully, "you see? It's good to strive for a thing that is profitable for you. You should take this into consideration and not torture yourself day and night."  
  
He turns away from me, slowly, very slowly, and hides his face in his hands. I bit my lips, praying that today's Epistle isn't some stupid, heartless one.  
  
"Brethren, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live after the flesh. For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live..."  
  
Awww, no luck this time. Oh well. I draw closer to Norrington, removing his square hat from between us.  
  
"Hey, Commodore," I whisper, "don't listen to this. You don't do your soul any good by mortifying your body. We are whole, we need both, body and soul, to be happy and, um... saved. We will be resurrected with our flesh, we can't tear it off ourselves in this life."  
  
"Ritchie, do me a favour and shut up," he whispers back furiously. "I don't remember asking you for the Scripture's exegesis, nor do I believe in your competency in that matter."  
  
I sigh heavily, standing up with all the flock to listen to the Gospel.  
  
"Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves."  
  
Ouch, that's a tough one. I don't even dare to look in Norrington's direction. It seems I've lost my case again.  
  
"Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit."  
  
Wait... that rings true.  
  
"A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit..."  
  
God, help me, there is hope then!  
  
"...wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them."  
  
Were there ever words that sounded sweeter? That's it, James, give it a try. You are suffering, you are in pain, you are withering away. Is that what you'd call 'good fruit'? Are you happier and more contended, because you're refusing yourself even a shadow of solace? Are you making anyone happy? You sacrifice yourself to a god that doesn't have any altar. How can you know if the fruit is good or bad, if you don't taste it?  
  
"The Gospel was very educating, wasn't it?" I say conversationally, when we finally sit down after the Creed to listen to the sermon... or not.  
  
"Now don't start on it again," he answers stiffly, but without that previous apathy.  
  
"Oh, I don't intend to. I'm sure you understood it right."  
  
"Thank you for your concern, but I'd worry about myself if I were you."  
  
"We're not talking about me, Commodore. I do hope you'll reconsider your all too hasty decision about... um... do you call it abstinence?"  
  
"That is out of the question," he says, looking away.  
  
"Well, you can drink pure water for all I care. The problem is not what, but rather where you will drink. I suggest the Red Stocking. Not that I like that rat hole much, but I've told Sparrow that you will be there."  
  
"It doesn't interest me in the slightest what you told Sparrow."  
  
"Ah, yes, of course. You will do as you see fit. I'm just a messenger. But I think it's foolish not to be interested in an opportunity. You risk nothing, you just shake the tree to see what fruit it bears. It's up to you to pick it or not."  
  
He's sitting by my side motionless, but I know that he's not listening to the minister this time. His eyes are downcast, his thick dark lashes look even darker with his pale face. I suddenly realize that he didn't even mention the pistol that I've stolen from him.  
  
I lean on the back of the next pew so that I can look into his eyes when he raises them.  
  
"Listen to me, Commodore... James, please," I whisper. "Do you know how it feels to be wanted and desired and longed for... and loved, maybe? Not only to love and desire and yearn, but to be loved and desired and yearned for as well?"  
  
I see his eyes go somewhere over me, mechanically, with a humility that is almost painful to watch. I follow his gaze - he's looking at the young woman standing at the right of the row in front. I see her cameo-like profile: soft mouth, little fair locks on the round forehead, clear brownish eyes full of pride and self-confidence. She is accompanied by two men in wigs. Strange... I'd bet I've seen the younger one somewhere.  
  
"Who is this beautiful lady, Commodore?" I ask before I can think.  
  
He smiles. Sadly, but smiles.  
  
"This is my former fiancee, Miss Elizabeth Swann... her last name is Turner now."  
  
"And the young wig is her husband, I suppose? Looks quite helpless."  
  
Norrington chuckles.  
  
"No, he's not so helpless, Ritchie. He stole the Dauntless, the fastest ship of our fleet, along with... with Sparrow, to rescue Miss Swann from your captain."  
  
I cast Norrington a quick, shy glance, only to meet his. Alright, alright. Let the sleeping dogs lie.  
  
"Well, mate, you have quite a handful of beauties here. Oh, by the way, who was that lady you've helped?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"That little pregnant lady in the golden gown. She's sitting over there."  
  
It seems that I've given myself away - was it my voice? - and Norrington eyes me with newly arised suspicion.  
  
"Why this sudden interest, Ritchie? What are you up to?"  
  
"Me? Nothing. Why do you think I'd be interested in a pregnant woman?"  
  
His voice is surprisingly cold.  
  
"What did you use my pistol for, pray tell me? Last time I saw you, you couldn't even afford a decent meal, and now you look like my peer. Don't even try to convince me that you've got all these clothes by honest means."  
  
"How nice of you, Commodore," I say bitterly. "Of course, I've stolen all this from widows and orphans, so why do you even bother to ask? Well, seeing that I robbed you not only of your pistol that night, but also of all your money..."  
  
"Oh, am I supposed to be grateful to you, because you kindly left me my money?"  
  
And virtue - don't forget THIS one, James. Oh well.  
  
"Surely not. It's me who should be grateful to you, and it's why I've asked about the lady. I thought that you may fancy her a little or something... and if you do, then she's safe, at least as far as I'm concerned."  
  
He chuckles again, reminding me of that little boy I saw in him, when I recited to him the verse about John Knox and Helen of Troy that night in the Red Stocking.  
  
"No, I don't fancy her in that way. I suppose that many men would like to be close to her, but I doubt that anyone would dare. She's the Governor's mistress, and her name is Isabella Dou."  
  
I feel like falling off my seat. Inci, the Governor's mistress! Little Inci Vay born in the Istanbul slums, Inci who was sleeping in the streets and who was proud of it, Inci whose mother was hoping that she will get lost anyway, until she found out that daughters can bring profit, Inci who was often angry, but never crying, Inci who was so sure that she'll be happy and rich someday, that she was always happy, even if she was rich only from time to time... Now we have something to celebrate. We can pocket the whole of Port Royal together!  
  
"You'd better stay away from her," Norrington warns me. Damn it, did I give myself away again? Ah, Commodore, and you think you know something!...  
  
"Oh, she's not my ideal," I say with a sigh. "I prefer blondes, in fact. Your lady Elizabeth, well, now there's a true beauty, if you ask my opinion."  
  
"No, I don't think I'd like to ask your opinion about women, Ritchie," he murmurs.  
  
I suddenly feel guilty. I shouldn't be so happy, or rather I should see to Norrington's little happiness now.  
  
"You didn't answer my question, Commodore," I remind him.  
  
He rolls his eyes.  
  
"What now?"  
  
"I asked you about the feeling of being loved. Do you know it?"  
  
He closes his eyes again, and he speaks after a while in that empty voice I've learned to fear.  
  
"I'd be much obliged to you if you'd free me of your presence. I don't discuss my private matters with strangers, nor do I ask them to arrange secret meetings for me. I find all this conversation highly disgusting, and frankly speaking, I am just too tired to send for the soldiers now."  
  
"We're not..."  
  
"First, there's no 'we' here."  
  
What happened? Was it the mention of his former ladylove? Or is it some stupid joy that is beaming from me, perhaps? Or is it only his last, deadly strained defense?...  
  
"Second, you're lucky that we're in a church..."  
  
"'We', Commodore?..." I say innocently.  
  
He blinks. I feel so immensely relieved that I hardly can suppress a laugh.  
  
"Please, Commodore, feel free to do whatever you want. I told you who I am the first time we met, and as I said, it's a fair game. You're well within your rights to arrest me, hang me, whatever, but I didn't come here to play with you, or to irritate you. I have only a few words to tell you and I'll leave you alone. I met Jack Sparrow in La Onza de Gracia and we sailed to Tortuga. I had time enough to learn a thing or two about him. It's true we didn't get along too well, but that's another story... and all I want you to know is that if you fancy Jack Sparrow a little, he fancies you twice or thrice that."   
  
I don't look at him, for I can feel his horrified fascination and I'm afraid to see his face now. I'm more than sure that he's listening to my whisper and not to the minister's pious and loud words.  
  
"And if you call Sparrow's feeling for you 'fancy', then I wonder, Commodore, what would you call 'love'?... But oh, yes, it's a small linguistic matter, after all. What counts is that he has courage enough to admit that he thinks about you more than about himself, and that he is cowardly enough to think that he's unworthy to even look at you."  
  
I can't resist looking at him now myself. He's holding onto the pew, pretending that he's listening to the beginning of the rather poorly sung "Te Deum"; his knuckles are white. I'm careful not to raise my voice as I continue my own quiet sermon that is for the Commodore alone.  
  
"He's ashamed of himself just as you are, only for different reasons. Do you think he wants to come to the Red Stocking? Aye, he wants it just as much as you do, Commodore. He'd sail happily around the Spanish Main for years, not setting his foot in Port Royal, being perfectly content to know that you are here safe and sound, and living on that thin hope alone, but at the same time being jealous as hell of you. It almost cost me my life when I told him that I wanted to take something other than material possessions from you. Why do you think I left the Black Pearl? Not because I didn't want to sail to Cancun, but because Sparrow couldn't stand me aboard... because of you... and because I, in turn, can't stand the two of you trampling on your mutual happiness and peace of mind. Before you ask me, Commodore, I'll tell you that I'm no saint and not even a good man, which you probably know, and moreover, I don't give a damn about Sparrow, but I do give more than a damn about you. I have your pistol, I still owe you. I just wanted to pay you back, and I promised myself to see you satisfied and at least with good memories, if not happy. My offer still stands, but as it's clear you prefer Sparrow to me, you can have Sparrow. Or not. As I said, it's up to you. All you have to do is to sit in the corner in the Red Stocking next Saturday. You can have all your brave soldiers with you, or you can be alone only with a glass of claret or water, just be there and watch."  
  
He blinks, looking at me. He's been looking at me for a long time already. I don't understand this stare - there's something about it that scares me, there is too much of something - but when I look at his flushed cheeks, his dry lips that were so obviously bitten, his thick dark lashes... aww, Ritchie, stop it, he already knows you're a whore.  
  
I definitely need a drink.  
  
Then I suddenly catch a glimpse of the pale golden gown. Oh, it seems that my little devil can't stand the Mass. Well, she's pregnant, maybe she feels sick?... Very good, it's a perfect moment for me to leave. Commodore James Norrington is a bit confused now and he most certainly won't remember that I left the church shortly after the Governor's mistress.  
  
"Lift up your hearts," I hear the minister.  
  
"We lift them up unto the Lord," I say with all the flock. Norrington is silent, though.  
  
"Let us give thanks unto our Lord God."  
  
"It is meet and right to do so," I say taking my hat. "Farewell, Commodore, I therefore free you of my presence. Please accept my humble apologies for disturbing you, remember to take the Holy Communion, and please don't forget - next Saturday, the Red Stocking."  
  
tbc 


	3. Baglama and lute

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belongs to Disney. "Ehe geia panagia" and "Morena me yaman" songs don't belong to me either, but they are anonymous.  
  
A/N: 1) Tatavla and Pera are, like Galata which was mentioned in the previous chapter, districts of Istanbul inhabited mainly by Greeks; Tatavla doesn't exist any more, though, for it was burned to the ground and renamed Kurtulus in 1928. 2) the transcription of "Morena me yaman" isn't a mistake, it's Ladino, not Spanish. 3) 'chelibi' is a Ladino word, meaning roughly 'sir, master'.  
  
I'd like to thank all my lovely reviewers for their kindness and support.  
  
III  
  
I can't see any shadow on my horizon and I'm beginning to worry. Everything is happening too easily for me: I probably managed to convince Norrington to come to the Red Stocking, I escaped arrest once again, I met Inci here... then I discovered that Gibbs' sister is her servant. It's truly frightening to have one's way smoothed like a tablecloth, for it too often leads into a pit.  
  
But how can I worry now, sitting on the wall of the abandoned house, watching Inci's white villa with its green shutters wide open? They are open for me and the house will soon open as well. The sun is hot as hell, but seems just friendly-warm to me, the headache-inducing scent of the wild flowers in the dark unkempt garden seems just sweet and tender, nothing more. The world is on my side.  
  
I've left Gibbs in the Red Stocking with little Jimmy. So far, all he knows is that his sister is at church with her mistress. Good for me, I have some time to worm my way into the house before Gibbs comes here.  
  
I must be careful not to expose Inci to the Governor's jealousy, for I don't know a thing about old Sophie - is she the Governor's spy, or is she loyal to her lady? I cannot just knock at the gate and ask if Mlle Dou would see me. Fortunately, we have our way to let one of us know of the other's presence.  
  
The street is empty, people aren't back from the Sunday service yet. There is a strained silence here, waiting only for me to break it. And break it I do, taking my lute and tapping its box, before I start playing "Ehe geia panagia", a song that serves us for a sign saying "I'm here".  
  
I don't sing, I just play the tune -- both of us know that "it's raining in Galata and it's pouring in Tatavla, the queen among girls is the girl dressed in black. I'll drink wine in Galata, but I'll get drunk in Pera..." Since we met once in Galata, we kept running into one another, and Inci taught me that song, but it was me who was always playing it, if only to make her laugh -- the great Istanbul seemed so small to my little devil and me that time...  
  
I can't help a laugh when I hear the sudden sound of shutters furiously closed. Aha!... You're relieved to see that I'm alive, but you're mad at me as well? But I can't go away like this, we have to talk and to celebrate this little reunion of ours - you never know, maybe it will result in some mutual benefit - but I see that in order to convince you, love, I have to change the song.  
  
"D'akeyas ventanikas m'arrondjan fletchas,  
  
si son de amores, vengan,  
  
vengan derechas."  
  
I'd bet you still remember this dreamlike, longing tune - "from these windows arrows are shot at me, but if it's out of love, the better, the better..." It was me who taught you this one, in turn, as it's a song about you - a true jewel that is hidden in muddy waters and visible only to those who can look deeper than the surface.  
  
This time it's not the sound of shutters being closed that I hear, but the sweet noise of the gate being opened - and it's not the modest figure of old Sophie clad in grey that's greeting me, no, it's my olive-skinned little treasure, all in the silken frills and laces of her soft white peignoir. Her tarry eyes shine, her cherry lips glow, her long dark tresses seem to live - there she is, my enraged and moved and confused Inci, a true spark of hellfire.  
  
She stands in the gate for a moment, waiting for me to jump down from the garden wall, then she grabs my sleeve and drags me unceremoniously inside the house.  
  
"Damn you, Ritchie Brown!" she says.  
  
"Inci, love, don't worry, I know who you are. I bring no trouble for the Governor's lady, I promise."  
  
"Run upstairs, quickly. I've sent Sophie for some fruit, we're alone, but you've to be careful. Her brother will come here soon."  
  
"I know, I know. Where are you going?"  
  
"I'll bring some wine."  
  
"Oh, not now! Stay with me! We still have time."  
  
"What are you doing?!"  
  
"I'm carrying you upstairs. Hold the lute."  
  
"Are you mad? I'm pregnant!"  
  
"That's why I'm carrying you upstairs. Now shut up."  
  
"Ritchie, sweetie! Are you drunk already?"  
  
"Kiss me and you'll find out."  
  
"Mmmm... oh, you're sober!"  
  
"I'm more innocent than this little baby inside of you. I've been to church today, milady."  
  
"I know."  
  
I sit her on a big sofa in the first room upstairs. It's a strangely dusty, unfriendly place, despite all its curtains, pictures and soft furniture. A crumpled handkerchief, forgotten on the virginal, is the only sign that the place is sometimes used.  
  
"You saw me in the church?"  
  
"Sure I did," she says proudly, fanning herself with my hat. "Why would I send Sophie away? I don't need no bloody fruit. I knew you would come."  
  
"So tell me, why didn't you let me in at once, you little imp?"  
  
She pulls my hair.  
  
"I wondered what tune would you play... and besides, I do smell trouble from you, chelibi. What the hell were you doing in the church? A date with Commodore Norrington? Port Royal isn't a safe place for you."  
  
"We have to talk."  
  
"Ow, what a surprise! You know what? It's you who will confess, and I will listen... and then decide if I should grab a broom and chase you away from my house. I have my road cleared here, and I won't let you ruin my business."  
  
"Oh, come on, Inci, since when does the Spanish Main belong to you?"  
  
"Since you showed up in Naples three years ago and placed us both on the chopping-block, stupid! You still haven't made it up to me for that... Now listen, I can give you some money, if you need it, but I won't soil my hands for you this time, no, no way."  
  
She is looking at me angrily, with her cheeks reddening, and her long eyelashes... what, are they damp?...  
  
I take her little hands that she doesn't wish to soil and close them in mine.  
  
"Shhh, there's nothing to despair about," I say. "I don't want your money, and I don't need your hands to be soiled. Now tell me, why are you crying?"  
  
"No, you tell me what you want from me!"  
  
"Nothing. If you're so scared that you're crying... I didn't come here to destroy your plans. I'll leave you alone and never come back, if you only assure me that you have your future secured..."  
  
"Ritchie, you're an idiot," she says and starts to laugh just a moment before I do. Yes, I can't believe I've said something that stupid to this little devil.  
  
"What about these tears, pray tell me?" I say, wiping her eyes with my sleeve.  
  
She flings her tiny arms around my neck without a word, and I have to remind myself not to squeeze her. It's been such a long time since I've had my only true friend by my side! Ah, how much I've missed this light scent of raisins, this warm sweet breath, this feverish touch... only these tears are something I'd do without.  
  
"What happened? Has anybody hurt you? Whom should I kill?"  
  
"Look at me," she sobs. "I'm bloody pregnant! If you do something stupid, I can't help you! I don't want to lose another baby again, and I don't want to lose you too! Why did you have to come here? You are a wanted criminal, and Port Royal is no London, you can't disappear in a crowd! Ritchie, if you get yourself killed, I swear on my immortal soul, I'll find you whatever circle of hell you're in, and rip your..."  
  
"Shhh, shut up! I'm not going to be killed. I'm not going on account any more. My Captain is dead. I'm not running any risky business here, and I'm leaving Port Royal soon... as soon as I see one little love intrigue happily finished."  
  
"A love intrigue?"  
  
"Uhm... I'm a love angel now, and there's no danger to me in the whole thing. On the contrary, I may earn eternal gratitude from both sides... There's nothing like trouble in it neither to me nor to you, you have my word."  
  
"Ritchie, sweetie, I wouldn't hang a cat on your word."  
  
"I'll tell you everything, and it's up to you to decide if you want to help me. I don't ask for much. I just want you to close your eyes and mouth to certain things."  
  
Inci looks at me suspiciously.  
  
"That's it? Only to keep a secret? You don't need some of this?" she asks, pointing at herself.  
  
"Oh, I have my own resources," I say smiling. "And you're pregnant. You don't have to be nice to anybody, or to touch anybody, or anything. You don't even have to smile at anyone."  
  
She narrows her eyes.  
  
"I can't believe such sweet talk," she says. "I want to know everything, every detail, d'you understand?... But not here. I hate this room. We'll go to the one that has a balcony over the garden."  
  
"Agreed. I don't like it here either."  
  
"I can figure it. I receive only honourable guests here, you know," she says, sighing. "Honourable bores, that is. Swann's friends, the like. It's not a place for you."  
  
The room with a balcony is unmistakably the main quarters, with a huge armchair settled solemnly in the middle, and a very elaborate footstool, both covered with a navy blue velvet. A small baglama is placed in the corner of the armchair, apparently with great care, and there are music scores scattered everywhere: on the two chairs by the window, on the table, on the very cosy bed covered in blue... I smile, looking at Inci; I know that to be able to read scores has been always her most cherished ambition. She answers me with a proud glance. Ah, little devil, but you don't have to read scores, you're one of the best musicians I've ever heard, don't you know this?  
  
"Sit here, please," says Inci generously, pointing at the chair she's just relieved of the whole heap of scores. "Make for it some place on the table, will you? I'll bring you something to eat and drink now, while Sophie is away."  
  
I succeed only partly in cleaning the table, there's too many nutshells, apple cores, biscuits, cake crumbs, a glass of sherry... Inci is back in no time with some pie, meat and cheese.  
  
"Help yourself and eat whatever you want, I'm not hungry... or rather I'm starving to hear about all this love business."  
  
I smile at her, while she is making herself comfortable in the armchair. The frills of her soft deshabilee touch my boots, the light curtain scarcely moving in the weak wind from the jasmine garden touches my neck. I'd feel I was in paradise, if not for these dark, hellish eyes that are watching me with suspicion.  
  
"There must be something that can be done only by me, right?"  
  
"Right, little devil," I say reaching for the pie.  
  
"Well, I guess I have to help you, then... But you see, I'm pregnant. I don't want to see disturbing things, it's not good for the baby, you know. Is there something bloody that's going to happen in your love intrigue?"  
  
I hesitate.  
  
"Aha!" says Inci triumphantly, folding her arms. "You must listen to me now, before I listen to you."  
  
"Speak up."  
  
"I have a list of people that are not to be harmed in this venture of yours, Ritchie. You guarantee that they will be safe or I won't help you."  
  
"Are you mad? I can't work on such terms."  
  
"You can and you will! Don't you dare to refuse a pregnant woman, sweetie."  
  
"Alright. What about this... give me no more than three names, and I'll see what I can do."  
  
"Good. First, there is my old Sophie Gibbs."  
  
"I have no intention of harming her. Um, but listen... can you trust her? Are you sure she isn't the Governor's spy?"  
  
"I was afraid that she was in the beginning," she says. "You know, it'd be only natural if she were. Maybe she was, what the heck!... But I didn't have anybody since my poor Hutton told me that he wanted me to stay with Swann. I mean, he's the Governor, right? I figured out that he's like a gift from heaven for me. I was tired of sailing muddy waters with Hutton, so I decided to play some virtue with Swann. Sophie hadn't had anything to report. And I was nice to her. I was playing for her and listening to her, and it's not an easy thing, because she stutters like hell, mind... and she's wailing all the time about her brother who's a pirate."  
  
"Alright. Who's next on the list?"  
  
"The former Miss Swann. Elizabeth Turner. The Governor's daughter."  
  
"What, do you know her?"  
  
"You won't believe it. She came here to visit me a few days ago. She's really courageous," says Inci, her eyes sparkling with true admiration. "The old pudding, her father, gave me a pearl necklace that once belonged to her deceased mother, you got it, the sentimental value of things, all that..."  
  
"Ah, I see. Did you give it back to her?"  
  
"Of course I didn't," says Inci, scratching her nose. "I have my pride, and besides, she came here as if she had some right to demand anything... maybe she had after all, I just wasn't in a good mood that day... but I took a liking to her, she's honest and strong, and loyal, too. She will get the trifle back, if Swann marries me, or if I leave Port Royal. Rather the latter than the former, though."  
  
I sense a certain tiredness in her voice, her deep dark eyes are suddenly sad; she is looking down, pressing her little feet on the footstool. I put my piece of bread on the table and take her in my arms.  
  
"Hey, Inci, what's happening? You're not yourself, love. Are you not feeling well? You seem to have Swann in your pocket. You told me you have your road cleared. Why this sudden giving up?"  
  
"No, it's nothing," she says, waving her hand impatiently. "I'm just thinking too much, I guess... my hour is coming, and I'm a bit scared. You know, bloody babies... I can't carry them properly. And I'm having second thoughts about Swann. I told his daughter that I like him, but I'm not sure about it any more. I can't stand cowards, and that pudding in a wig is the biggest coward in Port Royal. I can't count on him. I'm wasting my time here, maybe."  
  
"No, you're not," I say. "Don't despair, you're making my heart bleed. I'll help you, we'll bring Swann to his knees, I swear, as soon as we have my work done."  
  
"Oh-oh-oh, don't be so quick! I haven't agreed to anything yet! And Elizabeth is to be put on the protection list, understood?"  
  
"Don't worry, she's safe. Who's the last one?"  
  
Inci blushes all of a sudden.  
  
"Commodore Norrington."  
  
"Wh..."  
  
She closes my mouth with her feverish little hand before I even manage to express my surprise and delight.  
  
"No, listen to me! No harm is to be done to Commodore Norrington, or I won't cooperate, mind you! He's the only gentleman here. I didn't talk to him that much, but he's always been polite and civil and nice to me, and not because of Swann, but because of himself... and he wasn't afraid to lend me his hand today before all the bloody church! I own this man and I want you to spare him, Ritchie, please. I know he's involved in your business, I saw that you two were talking today..."  
  
I take her hand off my face.  
  
"Let me have a word here, will you? I own Norrington as well, Inci. It's him I want to help. It's his love affair."  
  
She leans her hands on my knees, and I see a mix of joy and dismay in her widely opened eyes.  
  
"Really? How come?... But why do you have to help him? There is no woman in Port Royal who'd refuse him, I think, if he woos her... maybe except Elizabeth, and he still loves her. Who is the lady? Is she Spanish or something?"  
  
"That's the problem, Inci. There is no lady here."  
  
She frowns. I look at her without a word, waiting. Her eyes slowly become serious, as the understanding dawns upon her; in this tiny face I see a wise shadow of years passed among secret doors, veils, thick curtains, soft pillows, moonlit terraces of Eastern countries that practice and condone all kinds of love.  
  
"Wait," she whispers. "This is a dangerous business. Nobody should hear it. I'll look downstairs."  
  
She goes out to the staircase and after a moment I hear her piercing scream:  
  
"Soooophie! Are you back?... No, I'm fine, thank you, dear! I think I'll take a nap!... Ah, fruit? No, don't come upstairs..."  
  
She's back rather quickly, with a bowl of delicious Caribbean fruit, and gestures at me to shut the door.  
  
"We're safe," she says. "Her brother is there, they will talk their bowels out now. Nice fellow, her brother."  
  
I sigh.  
  
"I know him," I say. "Jolly old liar. He'd run out of here screaming if he knew that I'm upstairs."  
  
"Why? Does he have anything to do with Norrington's affair?... No, wait... do you mean it's HIM?"  
  
"Awww, Inci!..."  
  
"Alright, sweetie, you tell me everything right now or I'll think that you've gone mad. Or did I misunderstand you? Is the Commodore in love with a man? And if he is..."  
  
"You understood me right, little devil, and the man is Gibbs' captain."  
  
Inci looks at me with her mouth open, and her eyes wildly search for a hidden smile in my eyes.  
  
"I must pinch myself or something," she murmurs. "I must be sleeping. Or you are sick. Do you know what you are talking about? That pirate, Jack Sparrow, and Commodore Norrington? An officer of the Royal Navy and a pirate? If you're just playing with me, Ritchie Brown, you're already dead."  
  
"I swear I'm telling you the truth and only the truth. Like at a confession. Listen, Inci, nobody knows this, only you and me. I came back to the Spanish Main a few months ago. I just found out that my Captain is dead. I didn't have any money, I didn't have any weapon, and I was ill. I was sitting in the Red Stocking, completely at a loss what to do, and then I saw Norrington, or rather his pistol, and a girl that wanted to steal his money. I rescued his money, because I wanted to steal his pistol... which I did. He, in turn, bought me a meal and spared my life - there were his officers in the tavern, and he knew that I'm branded and should be arrested, but he didn't do anything."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I reminded him of Sparrow. I was probably the only man who resembled a pirate there."  
  
"You reminded him of Sparrow? Did he tell you that?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't that hard to guess."  
  
"To guess? You have no evidence! Ritchie, look at those decent men here! They don't sleep with other men that easily, they have all this Bible thing, and especially Commodore Norrington..."  
  
"Hey, little devil, stop reading me a sermon. I kissed him and he kissed me back."  
  
She blinks several times and bursts out laughing.  
  
"Alright," she says, slapping her thighs, "I give up. You made Norrington kiss you? Gawd, you are a Jezebel in trousers!"  
  
"Pot, meet kettle," I murmur.  
  
"Oh, I'm pretty faithful to my old pudding."  
  
"You were, till today."  
  
"Don't you be so sure, Ritchie Brown. I've been a decent girl recently."  
  
"I was in the church longer than you," I say, laughing.  
  
"Only to meet the Commodore, right? Oh, does he know you're a Catholic?"  
  
"Does Swann know you're an Orthodox?"  
  
"Awww, I'm so scared! And you will tell him that?"  
  
"No, I won't, if you help Norrington and me with Sparrow."  
  
"But what should I do?"  
  
"The first problem is that both of them are too scared to ever think of meeting. I know their feelings are mutual, but they're still denying them. This problem can easily be dealt with, but the next problem is that Sparrow is a wanted man, and the whole thing smells fishy to him, because it's me who told him about Norrington's feelings, and he doesn't trust me."  
  
"What a surprise," Inci observes. "I somehow can't think of anybody who would trust you... except for me, sometimes."  
  
"Ah, thank you, love. But there is a serious reason behind his distrust. He knows that I'm Captain Barbossa's man, and he suspects that I want my revenge."  
  
"And you don't?" Inci whispers.  
  
"I don't know," I say.  
  
"If you want Norrington happy, you can't have your revenge."  
  
"I don't know where Norrington's happiness is," I say quietly. "If he wants to have Sparrow, he can have him. If he wants to be a Commodore, he can hang him. If the latter is the case, I will have my revenge."  
  
"And how do you plan to make them meet?"  
  
"I must force Sparrow to come here, and Gibbs is the only bait I can use. Sparrow is in Tortuga, waiting for Gibbs to come back, because they are going to sail to Cancun. Now, Gibbs will not come back, but Sparrow will have to come for him."  
  
"Very well. Are you sure he will?"  
  
"Gibbs is his old friend, and Sparrow is what people call 'a good man'. He saved Governor's daughter from drowning, he went to rescue her, he went to rescue her fiance. He will come here to rescue Gibbs, and Gibbs is not to leave this house."  
  
"It won't work. He knows that Sophie lives here, and it will only be a matter of time till he finds this place."  
  
"Don't worry, Sophie will have no clue where her brother is. And I will make Sparrow believe that if he doesn't come to Port Royal to meet Norrington, Gibbs will be handed over to the authorities and hanged as a deserter. He will have no choice but to believe me; he knows I'm capable of the worst."  
  
"And you want me as a warder?"  
  
"As a warder, a cook and a doctor."  
  
Inci shakes her head.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"And I will be a messenger and go to Tortuga to negotiate."  
  
"Allah akillar versin!"  
  
This sharp exclamation, "where is your reason?", is like a slap to my face; Inci, as always when she's upset, starts to talk in jargon - in that strange mix of Armenian, Greek, Turkish, Arabic and Jewish that is used widely by prostitutes, thugs and thieves of the Levant.  
  
"This is the stupidest plan that I've ever heard about! Do you think you can do it all alone? I can't help you much, I told you that already! Do you think you can outwit Sparrow, who has his crew on the Black Pearl, his mates in Tortuga, his friends in Port Royal?! Only two of us against them? You, a wanted criminal, a former mate of Barbossa that so many people still hate, and me, with a belly up my nose? We can't even meet each other freely! Your Captain was cunning and wise and what not - and it's him who got killed, not Sparrow! And he had all his crew with him and was immortal! And you think you can win, stupid? If you get killed in Tortuga, what the hell will I do... now, when we've just met?!"  
  
"Oh, Inci, shut up! Nobody is going to be killed. And yes, I think I can win if I play my cards carefully. I have my head..."  
  
"You have a head, so has a pin!"  
  
"Sparrow is only a man," I say quietly. "And we know his weak spot, while he doesn't know ours. He won't even be able to connect us."  
  
"Ritchie, don't... you can't beat him now. Wait till I have a baby... we'll think up something."  
  
"He's going to Cancun soon, and we have Gibbs. He must rise to this fly, Inci, and there'll be no better opportunity to catch him. If you don't want to help me, so be it..."  
  
"Ssssh!" she says, standing up and looking at the door. In the sudden silence we hear a shy creak of the wooden stairs.  
  
"Stay here," orders Inci. I stay, of course, where I am. I have no place to hide.  
  
"What is it, Sophie?" she asks in a lazy voice, sticking her head through the door; she's pretending she was asleep.  
  
"T-the Governor's carriage is downstairs, Miss Isabella."  
  
"Really? Go and help him undress."  
  
I stand from my chair, when Inci shuts the door.  
  
"Damn," she hisses, opening her wardrobe, "he'll be here in a moment. You can't leave the room, he'll see you in the corridor. Come in here, sweetie, and be careful, there could be pins in some of the dresses..."  
  
"Give me my hat, will you?"  
  
"Here you are. Take the food too... but don't eat... and here's your lute. What a bloody old libertine! He should be dining with his family now, it's Sunday afternoon, for God's sake! He's lost all his sense of decency!"  
  
"Well, it's good news," I say, making a nice place for myself among Inci's gowns that smell nicely of raisins and rice poudre. "We don't need him to be decent, right? There's still a chance he'll make you Mrs Swann, then."  
  
"No, I don't think so," she says, waving her hand with resignation. "He's rotten enough to stink, but not enough to enrich the soil. Everything is halfway in him, and he's a coward... oh, there he is, I can hear him. Alright, you now be quiet and wait while I deal with him. I wonder what he wants... I smell something unpleasant here. I hope he didn't get wind of you."  
  
"Inci, love, have mercy on me, please. I can't be locked here forever, it's hot as hell, and your bloody poudre..."  
  
"Oh, shut up, pirate," she says closing the wardrobe's door. "Suffer, and your reward will be great... but don't sneeze, or I'll kill you."  
  
I sit down with my head in the tender folds of Inci's dresses; fortunately enough, I have nearly a full view of the room from between the door's leaves. I can see Inci making herself comfortable on the armchair, with her lips puffed-out and eyelids heavy from the feigned sleepiness; she sticks out her tongue and winks at me, when we hear a short and surprisingly shy knock at the door, and becomes motionless again, just in the moment when the Governor comes in.  
  
He's a big and tall man in his fifties, it seems, but despite his elegant clothes, his elaborate wig and his dandylike cane, he looks neither powerful nor sure of himself. He stands before Inci like a cadet before his general, begging her acceptance with his round, anxious eyes - and he beams with sudden joy, when she smiles at him.  
"Please, take a seat," she invites him in a languid, childlike voice, waving her hand at the chair I was sitting in before.  
  
He lands his big butt in the chair, visibly relieved to see that she's in a good mood. Inci doesn't move, watching him lazily from amongst her frills and laces, like a little dragon in a Chinese temple.  
  
"Isabella, my dear, I admit it's very unlike of me to visit you so unexpectedly," he starts talking very fast, no doubt unnerved by her silence, "but, I was very worried about you... you left the church before the Mass' end. How are you... ekhm..."  
  
His voice trails off, his eyes wander elsewhere. I follow them to pass the slightly risen curtain of Inci's nightgown, just to see these nonchalantly crossed, slender ankles, and these miniature feet in shiny silk stockings, caressing the soft velvet of the footstool. Hey, you powderpuff, take your eyes off them, they're mine!...  
  
"... How are you feeling?..."  
  
Damn you, Governor, I'm not feeling well here, if you ask me.  
  
Inci smiles weakly and sweetly.  
  
"Oh, thank you, Weatherby dear," she says closing her eyes a little. "To tell the truth, I felt ill... it's because of the heat, no doubt. I thought that I'd feel better after a nap, but it didn't help me. Perhaps I should go to bed, but you were so nice as to come..."  
  
"By no means you should pay any attention to me," he says hastily, "if you... ekhm... if you'd like to go to bed, maybe I could help you..."  
  
I smile to myself, remembering that Inci likes to sleep naked.  
  
"Ah, don't be so eager to help me, my big wig," she says, suddenly opening her eyes wide and leaning forward in her armchair. "I'm so happy to see you here! You never come on Sundays, it's only in church that I can look at you..."  
  
He looks at her with such gratitude I suddenly feel sorry for him, and he takes her skinny fingers into his plump white hands.  
  
"I had to come and see you," he murmurs, strangely ashamed.  
  
"Oh, I knew you'd come," Inci whispers, grabbing him softly by his heavy coat and pulling him close to her. "Look, I sent Sophie for fresh fruit, and she was just in time. Isn't it wonderful? I feel so lonely on Sundays, and today - what a surprise!..."  
  
Then she entwines the end of his white cravat round her finger and pulls him even closer, touching her forehead to his.  
  
"When I saw you in this wig today," she whispers with a catlike purr, "just imagine what I was thinking about!... Don't you want to play it again, my little naughty Miss Swann?"  
  
The Governor turns pale, then reddens, looks around, then looks into Inci's huge dark eyes as if looking there for his reason that has just left him.  
  
"But... my dear child, you are... you were feeling unwell..." he murmurs like a broken musical box that tries to recall its last melody.  
  
She is pretending that she doesn't hear him and continues, sticking her fingers in the buttonholes of his coat:  
  
"It was delightful, I really loved it... mmm, I will be your big gentleman in a wig... your great Governor... or your brave Commodore, hm?... And you'll be an innocent milkmaid this time..."  
  
She draws her sharp finger across his right cheek; he catches and kisses her hand, closing his eyes.  
  
"Or am I too heavy for you now, what do you think?..." she asks with a playful smile.  
  
I nearly hit my head on the wardrobe door. Wait, Inci, you little devil!...  
  
"Surely not, Is... Isabella, my dearest... you are so nice to me, I... I..."  
  
"You want to tell me something, don't you, my poor dear?..."  
  
He is looking at her with suddenly guilty eyes.  
  
"Now, now, what is it? You know you can tell me everything. I can feel that something is bothering you, Weatherby darling. Please, tell your Isabella what's wrong," she says taking his face in her hands.  
  
"No, nothing," he murmurs, stroking her forearms, with his eyes deep in her cleavage. "It's nothing, I swear... Let's send Sophie for some wine, my dear. I can see now that I was mistaken."  
  
Inci draws herself back a little.  
  
"You are hiding things away from me," she says in a tenderly patient tone. "You know that it saddens me more than listening about some unpleasant gossip. Don't be afraid to tell me what it was."  
  
He draws nearer to her.  
  
"It's really unworthy of mentioning, and I can see now that I was... I was wrong."  
  
"You were wrong in what, dear? We have a whole Sunday afternoon for us! Just tell me what it was, we will laugh, and proceed to nicer things," she says with her sweet smile, tapping his nose with her finger.  
  
"It was foolish of me to listen," he says, kissing her hand again. "Will you forgive me?"  
  
She places his hands on her lap, watching him for a while, and then nods slowly at her thoughts.  
  
"You don't need to say anything," she says plainly, with a deep sigh. "I don't want to forgive you anything, dear."  
  
"No, no, I must confess that. I... I came here, because I had to face a terrible supposition. I was told that you... that some young man has been paying you visits recently."  
  
Inci blinks.  
  
"What?" she says sharply. "A young man?"  
  
"It's nothing! I know... I'm convinced it's a lie. I don't... I didn't believe it in the slightest."  
  
Inci stands up from her armchair and goes to the window, scratching her nose and furrowing her brows. The Governor watches her helplessly from his chair, leaning back promptly, when she turns over to look at him.  
  
"You believed it, my poor, poor Weatherby," she says in her childlike voice, full of pity.  
  
"Never!... Not even for a moment..."  
  
"Why did you come here, then?" she asks, shaking her head. "When I believed that you finally gathered your courage to visit me on Sunday... and you just wanted to make sure if I'm not hiding a lover in this wardrobe... oh, it makes me sick!..."  
  
"Isabella!..."  
  
"No, my big Governor, you must get your reward for such a brave exploit," she says, walking around the room angrily, not looking at him; her voice is full of pain and sarcasm. "You left your honourable family to see your kept woman on the Lord's Day!... Where will you start? The bed? The wardrobe? I suggest the balcony, the air outside is so fresh... go and cool yourself... and I will search under the armchair."  
  
He clings to her nightgown, but his hands shake, unable to hold the frills. She stops unexpectedly and places her hands on his head.  
  
"You see," she says, her voice soft and tender again, "I don't care about myself, but I can't stand you hurting yourself so badly. I'm a nobody, but you have your position in society, both as a gentleman and as a governor. Just imagine what the people of Port Royal would do without you? Commodore Norrington wouldn't have defeated Barbossa's pirates, were it not for your help. It's you who restored peace to these waters, and you can't find peace for yourself, because you're so kind and confiding!... You believe in whatever others have to say! Oh, my poor dear..."  
  
She hides her face in her hands and turns away, but he doesn't allow her to go, falling on his knees clumsily and embracing her legs.  
  
"Isabella, my love, I was a fool!... How could I... what should I..."  
  
"Ah, let me sit down, please," she says fanning herself with a sleeve. "It's only pathetic laughable gossip, like that one about me picking herbs on the cemetery!... It was definitely the funniest, don't you think?..."  
  
He laughs with her.  
  
"We won't talk about it anymore," continues Inci sweetly, "I just wonder what he looks like, that young man..."  
  
"Ah... I was told that he has curly brown hair, and seems to be very agile and clever."  
  
"Hmmm," says Inci thoughtfully, "I don't know who told you all that, my little Weatherby, and frankly speaking, I don't care... except for that it's surely someone who doesn't wish you well... but I do have some idea who that young man may be."  
  
The Governor frowns.  
  
"Is there anybody annoying you, my child?"  
  
"Oh, I'm not sure, but... you know this person well, Governor," she says narrowing her eyes.  
  
"Who is that?!"  
  
"I am really not so sure, and I don't want you to be too harsh to him... just keep your eye on him, my dear, and you will see your daughter happy again and your family peace restored, I promise you."  
  
"Dear God... do you mean it is William Turner?!"  
  
Inci nods sadly.  
  
"I've seen him around my villa a few times," she says with her eyes downcast. "I didn't want to tell you that, but it's been bothering me recently... your daughter came to visit me not because of that pearl necklace, but because she suspected that Mr Turner might be interested in me... This young woman is really bright!... I was feeling so bad about her, so guilty... I couldn't help her much, but... Didn't you tell me how happy she was when she was back?... The only thing I could do was to assure her that it's you and only you that I really care about..."  
  
"He will regret that!..."  
  
"Oh, no, Weatherby dear, don't scare me!" she exclaims. "I may be wrong! I don't want to accuse an innocent man, and there must be many young gentlemen with curly brown hair... I'm sure nobody can be as agile and frisky as Mr Turner, who's such a fine swordsman... but it'd do him good if he pays more attention to his sweet wife, and not to drinking and debauchery in the club. You're an experienced man, my dear, and you know high society and its dangers too well to fall into bad company, but Mr Turner is young and naive... oh..."  
  
She presses her hand to the forehead.  
  
"What is wrong, Isabella, darling?" asks the Governor with a genuine anxiety.  
  
"Oh, I don't know... I feel so dizzy!... Oh..."  
  
"I will call Sophie! Maybe she should run for the doctor?..."  
  
"No, no, it's nothing... I suppose I'm just very tired. I've been talking too much, and I was so worried about you... your hands were trembling!... Oh, I will just lie down for a while..."  
  
"I'm such an insensitive fool, forgive me, my dearest. You should go to sleep, I won't bother you anymore... I'd better go home and talk to my son-in-law."  
  
"And what will you tell him?... No, my poor Weatherby, you must have some proof. I could be mistaken about all that... and you cannot simply go back from my house and start reading sermons, or he will think you're as immoral as him. Eat a Sunday dinner with your family and just watch Mr Turner... discreetly."  
  
"You're so right, Isabella, my dearest," he says, kissing Inci's hand. "I will come tomorrow, in the evening, if I may."  
  
Inci smiles with her sleepy eyes and watches him go out of the room, then listens to his footsteps on the staircase, opens the door to listen to the sound of his carriage, closes the door and leans on it with a sigh.  
  
"What drudgery," she says, "I'm hungry like a wolf. Come here with all the food!"  
  
I open my wardrobe, catch Inci in my arms and carry her to the bed.  
  
"What are you doing? I said I'm hungry!"  
  
"All right, we'll eat in bed!"  
  
"No way, I hate crumbs on my sheets."  
  
"I'll clean it all, I promise."  
  
"Go away, Ritchie, you're all covered in poudre."  
  
"It's your poudre!... Or is it Swann's? Does he like to wear your dresses?"  
  
"Are you jealous, sweetie?... He's too bloody fat to wear my dresses."  
  
"You were wearing his wig. Oh, I'd love to see you in it! Did it stop on the tip of your nose or on the neck?"  
  
"Give me the pie. And the pillow... no, not this one, that big one. And stop talking about Swann, I had enough of him today."  
  
"Your wish is my order, love. Just one more thing. How is he in bed?"  
  
Inci laughs, throwing her shoes across the room.  
  
"Sweet, sweet, sweet... and greasy. Like a pudding. And a coward."  
  
"In bed?"  
  
"Aye, in bed. Just imagine, he's afraid to make love to me, because I'm pregnant. Didn't want to hurt the baby, you know. I had to work on him for months, and my belly was growing and growing, and his fear was growing and growing... would be funny, if I weren't that starved."  
  
"I promise you, little devil, you'll starve no more."  
  
"I'm not sure if I need you here. You heard all this rubbish about yourself."  
  
"I'll be really careful... Do you have an idea who the spy is?"  
  
"It may be Elizabeth's maid. I don't think it's Sophie... Anyway, I don't care about this lover business, I'm worried about all that business of Norrington's love affair. It sounds too dangerous to me."  
  
"So you won't help me?"  
  
"Who said that I won't? I'm worried about it and it sounds dangerous, therefore I'll help you."  
  
"Oh, Inci, my little pearl!..."  
  
"But not for free, mind you," she says with a smug smile.  
  
"Not for free?..."  
  
"No money, no Swiss, sweetie."  
  
"I have no money, love."  
  
"Oh, you must have something of value."  
  
"Something of value, you say?... Alright, little devil, you have my hands, my lips, my tongue, and the whole of my body. From now on I am ready to do your bidding, gladly and without delay, whenever and wherever you want, in whichever way you want."  
  
"We have an accord," she says, laughing. "Where are you staying in Port Royal?"  
  
"In the Red Stocking."  
  
"Very well. You're not going back tonight, understood?"  
  
"I'm yours to command."  
  
I don't know when the evening comes, I don't know if the night follows, and I don't care. The little room becomes the whole world for us, we find new paths, new horizons, new wonders. I am reminded again how mighty and beautiful is my little devil when she has two hearts beating inside her, how delightful is to watch her body effloresce; Inci discovers on my body scars that are unknown to her, and she laughs listening to their history, because there's no reason to weep - we cheated death and oblivion, we are united once again.  
  
I cover her with a silken sheet in the morning, kiss her forehead that's glistering with sweat, and place her tired hands on the pillow. According to her orders, I am to come back tomorrow, after making sure that Swann is gone.  
  
I jump off the balcony, congratulating myself on the villa's insignificant height, and cursing the jasmine bush I've landed in. The garden is full of morning dew and I sigh happily, feeling all this freshness. Another Caribbean morning that brings me closer to my goal.  
  
The tiredness overwhelms me, when I climb the stinking staircase of the Red Stocking. Ah, I need sleep so badly. I can't believe that in such a short time I managed to sleep with Fat Elsie, to meet Norrington, to hear the Mass, then to meet Inci and spend the whole night under her sweet tyranny. I'm a bloody saint, if there ever was one.  
  
I close the door of my dusty little room, yawning, when I feel a barrel of a gun on my back and I hear a quiet order:  
  
"Hands up. Slowly. Put them on the wall. No, don't even try to turn around."  
  
tbc 


	4. Guess who's coming before dinner

Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belongs to Disney.  
  
A/N: I'm TERRIBLY sorry for the cliffhanger and the delay, dearies! Special hugs for BlackJackSilver, Eldrid, Alori Kesi Aldercy and Alteng. Very special hugs and apologies to Cupcakeswirl. I'm so very ashamed...  
  
-----------------------------  
  
IV  
  
I don't know this voice. A well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties. Norrington? No, it's not him. Do I know any other well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties here?... No, it's only the Commodore and me... Oh, my brain refuses to work. Inci, if I get killed, it's because of you.  
  
He reaches for my pistol in one sure move. All right - he knows his weapons... a soldier... an officer?... Is it Norrington who sent him for me? But he wouldn't be alone then, and he'd show me an arrest warrant - since he didn't shoot me on the spot... No, he didn't come here to arrest me.  
  
"Really, officer," I say politely, while he continues searching me, "we don't have to begin our talk in such a rough way. I'm already disarmed."  
  
His hand, on my left boot, stops for a moment.  
  
"Do you know me?"  
  
"Regrettably, no," I answer. "But a short introduction would suffice..."  
  
He doesn't dignify me with an answer, of course, straightening up, probably relieved to see that I don't have any weapons except the pistol and the dagger he pulls out of my right boot.  
  
"Good," he says, grabbing my arm. "Turn around. Slowly, and hands up, if you value your life."  
  
I sigh, doing as I'm told, putting my hands behind my head.  
  
He holds me at gunpoint, watching me cautiously and frowning. His eyes are fixed on me gloomily, but they seem very bright in his tanned, handsome, slender face. Oh, he's trying to be scary, but he looks so young and, well - there is no better word - innocent. He may be less than thirty.  
  
I'm so tired I don't know what to do, now I'm sure he's not going to kill me. The morning sun is filling the whole room; the golden braid on the officer's uniform glitter glitters triumphantly. My eyes sting, I look longingly at the messy bed. Let's talk already, I want to go to sleep. I have to be at Inci's in the afternoon. What is he waiting for?  
  
I suddenly realize that his eyes don't meet mine any more. He's looking at my neck, blinking... ahh, I have a bloody mark there - my little demon bit me. It's amazing to watch how much it impresses the officer, though; he seems to be disgusted and curious at the same time, just like the ladies who were looking at Inci in the church. His cheeks are flushed... awww, he's really a novice. Too bad. Novices tend to act hastily.  
  
"You've never had such a mark, officer," I observe, grinning. "Are you that indignant, or is it out of envy that you're staring at me? Let's proceed to business, if you please. I'm sleepy as hell."  
  
"It's me who gives orders here, not you." He flushes even more, but his voice is sharp.  
  
"All right, whatever. Give them quickly, then."  
  
He grabs the chair and is about to sit, but then he obviously realizes that if I'm to remain standing, he'll have to look up at me, and it's not a very respect-inducing position.  
  
"Sit on the bed," he orders gruffly, placing Norrington's pistol - my pistol - on the table.  
  
"Ah, thank you so much," I say, sighing with relief. He frowns, surprised. "I'm so tired I was going to fall asleep just like that. Can I put my hands down?"  
  
"No, you can't. You will move only when I allow you to, pirate."  
  
"I'm not a pirate," I murmur, leaning my tired hands on the window-sill behind my neck.  
  
He narrows his eyes.  
  
"Oh, that's interesting," he says. "Who are you, then?"  
  
"I'm a musician."  
  
He smiles and gestures theatrically, sweeping his hand through the room.  
  
"I can't see any instruments here."  
  
"Look into the bag I've put on the floor," I say quietly. "There's my lute in there."  
  
"Which you stole a while ago, most likely."  
  
"Give it to me, please," I propose, leaning forward. "I can play and sing anything you wish - a Spanish villancico, an English ayre, a French rondeau, an Italian madrigal, anything. Just let me touch my lute and I'll show you that my lute knows me and my music."  
  
"That's not enough. Pirates do have musicians on their ships as well."  
  
"But I'm no pirate, honestly," I say, projecting falsely-accused innocence. "No pirate would be so stupid as to come to Port Royal while it's being protected by Commodore Norring..."  
  
He backhands me hard; I lose my balance, but in the very moment I let my hands down I have the barrel of his gun straight under my chin.  
  
"Don't move," he whispers, pressing the gun against my throat. He's furious with a cold fury, the most dangerous of all, I can see it in his eyes that are only an inch from my face, just as he's only an inch from shooting me now. Who the hell is this short-tempered youth and what did I do to him?...  
  
"You take me for an idiot?" he asks me quietly, but very matter-of-factly.  
  
"No."  
  
"I prefer that way of answering questions. Short and to the point. I'm not interested in your opinions concerning pirates or music. Or anything. Show me your hand."  
  
I show him my left hand, looking him in the eye. He presses the pistol harder.  
  
"Your right hand. Without that wrapped cloth."  
  
"I need to put both my hands down for it."  
  
"No, you don't. Use your teeth. Be quick."  
  
He backs a little to allow me to unwrap the cloth from my right hand. I try to be as swift as I can, but the tiredness is showing itself; I'm simply clumsy. He sits by my side in complete silence, and as I still don't have a clue who he is and what he wants from me, I'm beginning to get scared. I raise my eyes to look at him slyly; I don't want him to lose his patience with me.  
  
I sense a strange tension in his gaze as soon as our eyes meet, and he seems taken aback by my pleading look. He bites his lips, as if ashamed, but it's me who should be ashamed now, he's gotten me into his childish trap so easily... Inci is right, I shouldn't even dream about cheating Sparrow, if I can't defend myself from ambitious young officers of the Royal Navy... I show him my right hand with the P letter without a word.  
  
"You lied to me." It's simply a statement, with some amount of relief, surprisingly enough. "Well, anyone in your place would."  
  
"Anyone in my place would," I agree, "but I didn't lie to you."  
  
He frowns, looking at me with disbelief which does him real credit. Hm, maybe he is older than I thought.  
  
"You won't believe the truth, but I'm no pirate anymore," I say with a weighty sigh. "Nobody would believe the truth, in fact, so I don't even bother to explain things to people. I just hide this brand under a piece of cloth and try to make a simple living, like everybody else. I'm really a musician, and a good one. I can prove it. And if you still don't believe me, just arrest me and take me to Commodore Norrington. I don't think it'll make him happy, though."  
  
The pistol is at my neck again. Gosh, I could become really nervous in this state of affairs.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" he asks me through clenched teeth. His fist is already clenched on my shirt's front.  
  
"Why don't you take me to your Commodore, officer?" I whisper back.  
  
"I have no intention of taking you to him, but I'm strongly tempted to shoot you on the spot instead. I'm afraid I might yield to this temptation very, very easily."  
  
"Go ahead," I say, looking into his eyes, "I'm unarmed. You'll never know whether you killed a man who was innocent or not, but whatever. Go ahead, don't be afraid."  
  
There is too much surety in my voice, because there is too much desperation in his. He is trying to hide it, and this is why he treats me so ruthlessly, but he needs something from me. He has no intention of turning me over to the Royal Navy, neither has he any intention of killing me.  
  
"I won't kill you," he says in a harsh voice, "not yet. I want to know your name and why... why you are persecuting Commodore Norrington."  
  
Persecuting?!  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?!" I scream, forgetting everything. "Are you insane? How could I possibly PERSECUTE your Commodore? Who do you think I am, a king of Spain?!"  
  
"Shut up. I was here three months ago. I saw you with the Commodore. He hasn't been himself since that day. He works all the time, he doesn't sleep or eat properly, and he refuses to meet people. I didn't want to think that it's because of you, but it seems to be the case, especially after what I saw yesterday at church. I think I've guessed the nature of your acquaintance with the Commodore, but I want to hear it from you."  
  
"You think you've guessed the nature of our acquaintance," I repeat slowly, trying to gain time, "and you don't like it. You already prepared my death warrant, you only want me to sign it. What if I refuse to speak?"  
  
He smiles triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with hatred.  
  
"I have two pistols, pirate, and I have no objection to spending one or two bullets on you... let's say, you refuse once, I shoot you in one leg. You refuse again, I shoot you in the other. It hurts, and you can't run away; and I know how to shoot so that you don't bleed out too quickly."  
  
I can't help smiling, but I shake my head.  
  
"Point for you," I say with a sigh. "Seems I don't have a choice. I'll speak."  
  
Just be so kind as to give me some time, so that I can figure out a reason why Commodore Norrington would be afraid of me, I think, looking at the officer. Something about him bothers me greatly; he's shaking with an internal passion. He hates me... or rather he seems to hate one particular thing about me. What can it be? What possible threat to Norrington can I bring, and why is he so eager to protect him from that threat? Why is he alone, why is he acting in secret?...  
  
A secret, a shame... ah, how come I'm this dull this morning?... I can't believe I didn't realize that from the beginning!... Now, Ritchie, play wisely, tread carefully.  
  
You know what, officer? I am good at guessing things as well; perhaps I'm better than you. I know what made you come after me, I know what made you so desperate as to put your pistol at my throat. It's this heart-rending sense of brotherhood between Norrington and you, isn't it? You feel in him the same suffering and struggle that has been your share since you can remember; you feel that he's tormented by the very secrets and shame that you are hiding. You want to help him, but you can't approach him; the only thing that you can do is to watch over him from a distance, and to try to spare him the suffering that may become yours some day... All this is highly respectable, but you made an amusing mistake, taking Ritchie Brown for the Commodore's enemy. In fact, officer, I am an unwilling saint who's going to get you both redeemed.  
  
"You were spying on me and Commodore Norrington," I mutter, pulling back, with my eyes on my captor. "That night in the Red Stocking... you were behind that door, peeking through the chink... right? What did you see, officer?"  
  
He clenches his teeth even more; there is a clearly visible vein on his temple, with a pulse beating wildly.  
  
"You didn't see anything, probably 'cause I snuffed the candle," I continue cheerfully. "All you could see was that we kissed. Oh no, not 'we'! I kissed him. You should have noticed that much."  
  
"Yes, I noticed that," he says in a croaking voice. "You made him..."  
  
"I made him do nothing. My offer was rejected. You surely noticed... uh... heard that as well."  
  
"Don't try to lie to me."  
  
"Then don't try to tell me that you saw and heard everything. I left the room at dawn and it wasn't you who was guarding the door. It was a Navy officer, sure, but not you. I remember him, he had a round pink face and big nostrils. And he was sleeping."  
  
"I know he was sleeping. He called me away and we had another drink, and then..."  
  
"And you obviously don't know what happened in the room. You two weren't guarding the Commodore, in fact. Oh wait, one of you was, but on the pretext that he was only having a Saturday drink. That was you, officer. The other one noticed the girl who tried to steal the Commodore's purse, but it was you who noticed me. You couldn't guard the Commodore openly until your companion got drunk, but you missed all that happened in our room. And you began to worry."  
  
"Stop talking rubbish."  
  
"You really believe that Commodore Norrington is being blackmailed by me?"  
  
"Prove me wrong, scum."  
  
"Don't call me names, officer, I am being honest with you," I say, looking at him with widened eyes. Ahh, funny how often it works. Never worked with my Captain, though; he knew all too well that I'm lying most outrageously when I look most innocent.  
  
"Don't underestimate me. No one would trust a pirate."  
  
"See? I don't even have to prove you're wrong, you just did it yourself. No one would trust a pirate. I can very well appear on the main place of Port Royal and shout that Norrington is a sodomite, and all I will gain is the gallows, for he only needs to show them my brand and tell them my name."  
  
"Which you'd better tell me now, too."  
  
"My name's Ritchie Brown."  
  
He frowns and narrows his eyes.  
  
"You were Barbossa's comrade."  
  
I can't hide my surprise. How come he knows me, if even Norrington didn't?  
  
"Have we met before, officer?"  
  
"No. But there are rumours that Barbossa is alive. We are digging up the old reports and records. Your name comes up quite often."  
  
Oh, I do hate publicity. I've always laughed at those pirates who tried to build up their own legend like Blackbeard or Rackham... or Sparrow, for that matter. I grin to myself, while the part of me that is responsible for lying screams:  
  
"Barbossa is alive?! Oh God, then all my suffering wasn't in vain!"  
  
My officer looks at me with utter bewilderment.  
  
"I can redeem myself further," I continue, with a zeal worth of a newly ordained Jesuit. "He doesn't know I've repented my ways. He has no idea I'm the Royal Navy's informer. He'd allow me into his presence without any suspicion, and I can lead him straight into the hands of the law. Now I can do some good. Now I will turn over somebody much more dreadful than a mere pirate. Now it will be the turn of a man who was the curse of the Caribbean for almost twenty years."  
  
"You are... the Navy's informer?"  
  
"Why do you think the Commodore didn't have me arrested in the church?... Well, the whole blackmail idea isn't that bad, given that you were a witness to a rather unusual scene, but it's very easy to explain. I was ill and hungry at that time. Your Commodore bought me a meal. I wanted to repay him with the only coin that I had, but he refused it. Then I offered to become his informer, as I know about people and places and things that the Navy has no access to." It's so difficult to spin the thin, strained thread of my words now; I sigh and pause, trying to collect my thoughts. "This time I was accepted. That's all."  
  
I sigh. I am very, very tired. My mouth is dry, my body sweats with that cold sweat of a sleepless night and I feel as if I've fallen into an empty, bottomless gorge of apathy. Nothing is going to pull me out of it. I don't care what will follow, I don't care if he believes me or not. I don't give a damn about my own case anymore; I want to rest a little. My eyelids are unbelievably heavy now, I can hardly see my interlocutor... awww, Ritchie, you lazy animal, stop it now... Your ghost will have to go back to Inci and to tell her: "sorry, love, but I fell asleep in front of a loaded gun, and here I am", and it'll be really scary...  
  
"That's all," he murmurs to himself, echoing my words. "That's all, you say. And I am expected to believe in it. I wonder why I haven't... why your name figures only in the old records, along with Barbossa's, and not in the newer ones."  
  
He's strangely calm, as if he's forgotten about me already. He seems to talk to himself, not to me. Some time ago I had a similar conversation with his superior. This young officer is lonely just like the Commodore, and - like him - he wants to hear things that he already knows, but which need to be voiced so that they can come into being.  
  
I can catch him off guard now. He's deep in his thoughts, he has almost stopped watching me. It would be so easy to snatch the pistol from him; but no. It's better to turn this passionate youngster into an ally; he'll come in handy later. All right, what is he meditating on?... The threat is no longer a threat, the riddle is solved, now there is only that little matter of believing. Let's have the gruel boil a bit more.  
  
"The Commodore wants it to remain a secret," I say. "I don't know how many officers have been informed about my humble self. Maybe there's no trace in the reports now. Maybe he wants everybody to forget about me for a while." I pause and sigh again. My words fail me, I have to chase them and to hold them firmly. "Anyway, I can suggest something. Just take me to him. He won't be happy, but he won't be afraid of me either. I pose no treat to him. As I said, your idea was pretty understandable, but if I tried to blackmail anyone of your Commodore's position, all I would get is a death sentence. And how can I accuse him of being a sodomite, if there's not a single piece of evidence for that..."  
  
I catch a quick bat of his lashes; he averts his eyes so he doesn't look at me for a moment. Oh, I see, it's the most innocent of my lies that upsets him so. I lower my voice, making him look at me again.  
  
"Don't worry about your Commodore, officer. He is safe from all accusations like this, I can test to it. I swear on the Virgin's Seven Joys that he still thinks of Mrs Turner."  
  
He gazes at me, baffled.  
  
"You swear on what?"  
  
"Oh... um... I'm a Catholic, you know. But if you want me to swear on something else..."  
  
"You're a Catholic?!"  
  
"What, is this a worse crime than being a former pirate?"  
  
"In England, certainly it is," he says dryly. "It's strange that you are so eager in admitting it to me."  
  
"I'm honest with you, I told you that. I'm not lying to you now, neither about my faith nor about the Commodore." I narrow my eyes; the time to attack has come. "I wonder what kind of proof you want from me, in fact. I cannot reassure you in any other way than swearing on my religion that the Commodore does not fancy men."  
  
I pause for a moment to look at his confused, flushed face. No, I'm not mistaken. He doesn't know how to handle my assertions; he wants to look relieved, he wants to look happy, he wants to look calm and composed again, and he fails miserably.  
  
"Or would you rather prefer that he does, officer?" I ask him thoughtfully. "Would it be better if he fancied men?... Well, to tell you the truth, I am of the same opinion. It would be better for all three of us. He wouldn't be suffering because of his ladylove, I could have repaid him that time..." I shake my head sadly, watching him with the corner of my eye. "...and God only knows how much I wanted to. I still hold to my want."  
  
This look of dismay and horror that appears in his eyes is a real reward. He almost holds his breath, his gaze fixed on me. I lower my hands very, very slowly, resting them on the bed. He cocks his pistol, just as slowly. I shake my head again, patient and smiling and persuasive.  
  
"Come on, officer. You desire the same thing. This is what we have in common."  
  
"There is nothing we have in common."  
  
"Nothing except this one particular trifle that led you to me," I say drawing nearer to him, despite the pistol. Thin ice, Ritchie. "I can play the villain, if you want me to, but in fact I'm only being honest. I fancy the Commodore just like you do. We're of the same kin."  
  
"Stop it." He's forcing himself to say something.  
  
"Why should I? Ain't it the truth?... It's ridiculous that you suddenly have so many scruples."  
  
He notices this little word 'suddenly' and frowns, unsure of what I mean.  
  
"You have me at gunpoint," I say. "What else do you need?"  
  
He's gaping at me, almost forgetting to breathe; he knows what I'm offering him. Despite his innocence, he is truly clairvoyant in guessing feelings, and he cannot find a false note in my voice now; yet it's this very innocence that prevents him from taking his chance. I feel a shade of sympathy for him now; if he's unable to make the first step, I'll push him.  
  
"Look," I say with a smile, "if you're so afraid of me, I can do without my hands."  
  
I cross my hands behind my back, kneel slowly on the bed, and fighting back laughter, draw my face near his, as near as possible. His eyes look at me, half-horrified, but already half-intoxicated. I raise myself a little to touch his forehead with a mockingly encouraging kiss.  
  
He shudders.  
  
"Easy," I whisper, catching his upper lip with my teeth, then my lips.  
  
He wants to say something, to move.  
  
"Don't," I warn him, my breath hot against his mouth. "Don't move, or I fall."  
  
But it's him who is destined to fall, and finally I have his pistol dropped between us and his fingers digging into my shoulders. Which is rather painful, and I'm beginning to lose my balance. He reaches for my hands, untangles them, brings them to his face, to his neck, as if he wanted to convince himself that he's not dreaming. Is it possible that he always longed to be with a man, but he didn't dare to try?... He literally clings to me and doesn't let me go; it would be touching if not for the simple fact that it's not me that he wants, and it's not Norrington either; now anyone of the same sex would do.  
  
"Wait, wait," I say, trying to pull myself back a little. "We need some space to proceed." And then, remembering the lesson with Norrington, careful not to scare him away, because you never know with those proper fellows, I start to unbutton my shirt as fast as I can.  
  
"Wh... what are you doing," he murmurs, his face flushing dark purple.  
  
"Try to guess, riddle-solver. I'm undressing for you. You do the same."  
  
He raises his hands to the upper buttons obediently, but then he stops, as if he forgot something. What's the matter?  
  
He apparently wants to protest, to take back all of what was said and done, but his voice seems to fail him - I'm already half-naked before him. No, I won't let him get away now. I've made up my mind: I need an ally in the Royal Navy, even if I have to undress him with my own hands every time we go to bed.  
  
"All right, I'll do it," I whisper, pushing his pistol aside with my knee and reaching for him. He tries to shake his head, to push away my hands, but I know that nothing draws attention better than a kiss when it comes to half-hearted protests. He forgets why he was protesting, but it's my turn to stare in bewilderment.  
  
"Awww, mate! What the hell do you have here?!" I exclaim before I can think.  
  
"Doesn't matter," he mutters.  
  
It's such an unbelievable thing to see an English officer wearing sackcloth - it can be compared only to an English officer taking said sackcloth off before going to bed with another man. I touch the raw hempen material. It's seemingly worn out - is he using it every day or what?  
  
"Wait," I say. "It matters very much to me. Why are you wearing this thing?"  
  
"Because I not only have to hide my faith like you, but also to lie about it every day," he says plainly.  
  
Hell, no. It's not the right place or time to discuss the martyrdom of English Catholics.  
  
I smile at him coyly.  
  
"You see," I say, casually stroking the reddened flesh on his chest and shoulders, "there are more things that we have in common than I thought. It's not just a coincidence that we met, and we'll make this morning worth remembering."  
  
He lets me do with him what I want, probably because it's so pleasant to him - I know where to touch, when to kiss, how firmly to hold, how long to lick and how strongly to bite. As for me, I'm showered with caresses as passionate as they are rough. I'd be laughing, if not for my body that was aching already, and the thought of Inci, who's going to see all these new marks this very afternoon. Well, it's time for him to have everything exactly the way that he wants. And as he doesn't seem to admit that he's the conquered, and wishes to play the conqueror, I let him to lay me on my back, to strip me from the last of my clothes, to...  
  
Oh no, there is always this little problem with the inexperienced. I have to stop his hands that are spreading my legs, and to sit on the bed. He refuses to understand and wants to push me back rather brutally. Very good, I note, smiling to myself.  
  
"It's all right, we just need something to smooth the way," I say, "or it's going to be unpleasant for us both."  
  
He raises his hand to spit into it, but he doesn't say a word; I can't help laughing. So he's heard some stupid stories, but apparently never tried anything himself.  
  
"This," I say, stopping him, "doesn't help a thing. We need something greasy. Go to the kitchen and get..."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and I recognize a threatening, suspicious note in his voice, "and neither are you."  
  
"And I'm not going to be screwed without anything," I say, leaning on my elbows. "I may be a Catholic, but a martyr I am not. And neither are you."  
  
He sighs impatiently.  
  
"So what are we going to do?"  
  
I bit my lips with confusion, but then I remember that I had some oil for gun polishing somewhere.  
  
"You won't need it anyway," he remarks quietly, while I'm searching for it.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I should give your pistol back to the Commodore."  
  
I laugh quietly just to relax him, and snatch my pistol from the table before he's able to realize what's happening. The next moment he has the barrel between his eyes. There's a long silence.  
  
He freezes, sitting on the bed, and for a moment his face seems completely hollow. He doesn't know what treachery is. He doesn't know the bitter feeling of being deceived. He still trusts people, and even though he's unlearning, it's much too slow. So many things to teach him, and not all of them pleasant, I think, putting the pistol back on the table.  
  
"It's not a wise thing to trust anybody," I say, "but you will trust me. I had your life in my hands, you had mine, and we share a secret. And the most important thing is that we're celebrating this morning together, and we'll celebrate the next as well. That's all you should worry about now, and not pistols. And now," I add sitting by his side and taking his hands, "concentrate on the oil first."  
  
Then I let him have his way with me, just as I planned. The main dish that I get isn't much more delicate than the side dishes. He likes to hear me moan, but he doesn't give a damn if it's because of delight or because of pain, and when I become quiet, he increases his pace to make me scream. And scream I do, for I want him to come and let me sleep at last.  
  
Is it the tiredness that I can't wait for it to end, or is it something more, I wonder, watching him watching himself move between my legs. He doesn't look for approval in my eyes, not even once. He knows that I can't say 'no', although he doesn't ask himself why; there's only this moment that he lives in, he enjoys what he's doing to me, and it's all that matters. There is nothing wrong with it, I lost and I have to pay... but is it worth the price? Maybe I should have killed him when I had the chance?... I can recognize this peculiar mix of scruples and self-indulgence in him; he'll probably wear his sackcloth again, for he wants to be at good terms with God above him and the devil inside him, to be on both sides at the same time. I don't know which power he'll choose to serve when he finishes with me. Maybe I should finish with him.  
  
I take my hand off his back and lower it slowly, searching for his pistol on the floor, when I feel his hands on my face. I blink with surprise at the sight of his widened, bright eyes, suddenly seeking contact with mine - it's as if it just occurred to him that he's fucking me and not his own hand. Ah, so he likes to watch me only when he comes, I think, while he's muffling my final cries with kisses. Well, it becomes interesting; maybe I should wait and see if there's more to this young officer. There aren't many men who like to kiss. Or maybe I have yet to meet them.  
  
"You mean that you've slept with so many?" he asks me, shocked, still panting.  
  
"Not so many," I say, offended. "More than you, that's sure, but it's not my main vocation, if that's what you suggest."  
  
"Uh... I'm not suggesting anything, I'm... I'm just curious," he says, leaning his head on his hands, so that he can watch me from above. "You look very young, Ritchie."  
  
"I'm not that young. I'm thirty," I answer, feeling that I'm drowning in the bed. Hell, I'm so tired. How can I serve Inci tonight? Ah, somebody shoot me in the head...  
  
"Really? You're two years older than me, then."  
  
"Heh... and I'm your first?"  
  
"Yes." He laughs, embarrassed a little. "How old were you, when... when..."  
  
"When I slept with a man for a first time?... Oh, I was much younger, but it doesn't count... maybe like eleven... twelve?..." I try to understand a strange look in his eyes, but I fail, and I'm too sleepy to think about it. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, mate... um, wait, what's your name?"  
  
"Theodore," he says with a sigh. "Theodore Groves."  
  
"Ah, well met," I mutter. My eyelids weigh twenty pounds each. "Um, listen, Theodore, please do me a favour... uh, excuse me, I've forgotten to ask about your rank..."  
  
He's looking at me with worry.  
  
"What's wrong with you?"  
  
"Sleepy," I mumble, dissolving between the sheets. "Listen, Officer Theodore, pl-please d'me a favour an' wake me up in the afternoon, b'fore the sun sets... I mean, I'm not sleeping, you can talk t'me, it's just that I may be not answering, and please make sure that I go out in the afternoon..."  
  
...And the next time when I see Groves - he informs me kindly that he's a lieutenant - is the afternoon. I don't know how on earth he could stay in the Red Stocking with me, but he did. He has a hard time with me, but the vision of Inci the Furious helps me to finally get up.  
  
The reddish light of the sun licks the dirty walls of the room; there is fresh water in the basin and wine and bread on the table. Groves is sitting on the bed half-dressed, in his breeches and unbuttoned shirt.  
  
"No bloody sackcloth?" I ask him, grinning.  
  
He shakes his head and frowns.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"As you wish," I agree cheerfully over the basin, feeling his eyes on my bare back and shoulders. There is an awkward silence. I smile to myself and turn back to him to take my clothes from the floor. He stops me, taking my hand.  
  
"I have to go soon," I say apologetically.  
  
"No, I just wanted to... how did you get all this?"  
  
"All what?"  
  
"Scars."  
  
"I wasn't born a prince," I say sharply. "And you're a military man. Don't tell me that you mind sleeping with me because I happen to have scars."  
  
"Hell, that wasn't what I meant, Ritchie. It looks like... some of them... somebody tried to inflict a lot of pain on you."  
  
I can hardly suppress a laugh at his hands touching me again and at the fascination in his voice.  
  
"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "that somebody had to wait several years until he got his hands on me. No surprise he took his time, you know. But we'll talk about it tomorrow morning, if you please. I must be on my way now."  
  
He takes his hands off me reluctantly, but he's doing his best to trust me. I notice with inner triumph the sparks of lust in his dark eyes. It's me who fanned this flame, and it will burn brighter and brighter, once it has won over the ashes.  
  
There is no carriage at Inci's gate. She was apparently waiting for me, because when I arrive at the abandoned house across the street I don't even have to play the lute - the window on the villa's second floor opens, and Inci waves at me impatiently, her slender hands in delicate beige gloves, her elbows barely visible in foamy lace.  
  
"We have to hurry," she whispers, leading me up the staircase. "There's too many things happening already. I feel like, uh, in the sledge that is sliding down the hill very, very fast."  
  
"Any bad news?"  
  
"Well," she says, "there's nothing definitely bad, but we have to be careful. We're going to have a guest soon. I was waiting for you."  
  
"A guest? Ah, and I thought this fine dress was in my honour... But you surely don't mean Swann, do you?"  
  
She shakes her head and opens the door to her headquarters. I stop in surprise on the threshold.  
  
The whole room smells so strongly of various herbs and fruits that I feel dizzy. There is a basket of strangely shaped leaves and grasses, all dried, carefully bound and divided into small bunches. A wooden box under the table shows a battery of tiny bottles; a little mortar on the window-sill is full of half-ground black seeds. The pile of scores on the chair is stained with yellow, and there is a pair of old fabric gloves on it, but the gloves are green in turn. She learned how to make medicine, when she was living in Thessaloniki, but it seems that she's still studying...  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"We need some nice potion," she says, taking the gloves off and showing me yellow-stained fingers, "to put Gibbs and Sophie to sleep. But its power should vary, Sophie is much weaker than him. I must prepare it carefully, but I can use the kitchen only when they are asleep, so I mainly have to work here."  
  
It's only now that I notice dark circles under these sweet eyes, and the paleness of these full lips that are not cherry today, but only pink. I feel my heart bleed.  
  
"Inci, my poor little devil!..." I say, embracing her and holding her tiny hands in mine. "Forgive me, it's the last time you lose sleep because of me... and I know what it means to be deprived of sleep, believe me..."  
  
She smiles, but then blinks suddenly and raises her head to look into my eyes.  
  
"Why, I do believe you, Ritchie Brown," she says very sharply. "You sound too bloody convincing, and did you see any mirror today?"  
  
I must have a very stupid face now.  
  
"You look worse than me, and I look really bad. And you smell..." she starts sniffing me. "I smell today too, but me, it's only herbs... and you reek of... of..." and she opens my shirt before I manage to catch her hands.  
  
"Uh, Inci, it's nothing..."  
  
"Sure, sure, I can see it. Who did all this to you, sweetie? I don't believe it was a woman, and there's not a woman's scent on you."  
  
"Well, you're right... 'twas an officer of the Royal Navy."  
  
"Only one? Not the entire Navy?..."  
  
I roll my eyes.  
  
"Oh, I see, I'll stop being nasty. At least you're not wasting your time. A Navy man may come in handy when we need him."  
  
"It could have ended less pleasantly," I say; then we sit down and I tell her the whole story. Inci listens to me, furrowing her brows and biting her nails.  
  
"Our street begins to narrow," she concludes anxiously. "Are you sure he didn't follow you here?"  
  
"I may be tired, but not that much," I reply.  
  
"It's becoming difficult, Ritchie. I am being watched. I couldn't receive my old pudding here, because I don't want him to think that I'm playing some soror mystica or witch. It's only a matter of time before he becomes suspicious. I can talk stupid things out of his head, but I have the whole family against me, including his daughter... and she is quite crafty. God knows what she thinks of me now. She doesn't wish me ill, but I'm not so foolish to think that she'll welcome me as her stepmother. And you, sweetie, you can't whore your way out of every danger."  
  
"That's very true," I say. "We have to act quickly. Lock Gibbs out of anybody's sight, wait a couple of days, then I'll go to talk with Sparrow."  
  
"I don't like this business," Inci murmurs, "I don't like it at all. Too many strings to pull, and only two of us. All too easy to be strangled by one. I wish we had a friend."  
  
"We have Groves now." I don't believe my own words.  
  
"He's no more friend than Elizabeth. We can't trust him. He tried to kill you, and what if he finds out that you're deceiving him? He's only a tool, Ritchie."  
  
She rubs her temples in a impatient gesture. That reminds me of something she said before.  
  
"You told me you're awaiting a guest."  
  
"Oh, hell, I forgot." Her eyes fill with even more anxiety. "God, I was waiting for you. He may be here any moment. I've sent Sophie away."  
  
"Who is he? Norrington?"  
  
"What are you thinking about, sweetie? Try again."  
  
"I don't know people in Port Royal, Inci."  
  
"You should know this one."  
  
"Come on, we have no time."  
  
"One William Turner. The Governor's son-in-law."  
  
"I don't know him."  
  
"Are you sure?..." She narrows her eyes. "But you knew the name Turner."  
  
"Sure I know it. So what?"  
  
"Gawd, Ritchie, wake up!... He's Bootstrap's son!"  
  
"You're joking."  
  
But she is looking at me tensely, with her lips tightly pressed together. Ah, so this is why that young wig standing in the front row of the church seemed so familiar to me!... I've heard about Sparrow's exploits and I knew that he enlisted the help of some poor blacksmith named Turner, but it didn't occur to me that said blacksmith could be related to Bootstrap in any way. How come a pirate's son has married the Governor's daughter?  
  
"You saw my old pudding," Inci says, surprised by my silence. "He can't resist women, be it even his own daughter. She didn't want to hear of anyone else but Turner. And your captain helped them a lot, turning up here and taking Elizabeth with him, so that Turner could hasten to her rescue with that sea beggar, Sparrow. She came out of the whole adventure with no more than a scratch on her hand, but your captain has paid with his life, and you've to give equal thanks for it both to Sparrow and to Turner."  
  
I sigh.  
  
"Inci, love," I say, "if you want me to kill Turner, I will do it for you. I don't need any other reason. I just thought you wanted to spare his wife. Why the hell is he coming here? If Swann learns about it, he'll throw Turner out of his house."  
  
"You won't believe that. He's as daft as Elizabeth, only he hasn't got so much wit. Wrote me a little letter, threw it over the fence when I was picking some herbs in the garden. He probably heard some unpleasant things from his father-in-law, maybe guessed that it was me who set him up, maybe not. He wants to parley with me."  
  
"Are you going to receive him here? If you're being watched, it'll be a hell of a proof."  
  
"I can always say he broke in without my consent, while my servant was away. Besides, I have my reasons to think that it was him who told Swann that I'm receiving young men. You haven't been in Port Royal long enough for anybody to notice. It may be just Turner making things up so that the old pudding finally breaks with me. Who knows."  
  
"How can I help you?"  
  
"Just hide behind the living room door. Not on the corridor side, on the other. There is a small parlour there." Her voice is crisp and cold. "If he comes here to try to threaten me - to blackmail me - to make me flee Port Royal, because he knows anything about you, he's not to be left alive, Ritchie."  
  
"I suppose nobody knows he's going to visit you."  
  
"Unless he's extremely stupid."  
  
Suddenly I notice a flicker of resolved, concentrated fury in Inci's eyes. I've seen that flicker only a few times, and when it becomes a fire, it burns everything in its way. What did Bootstrap's son do to earn such hatred from my little devil? Did I know her less, I would be really worried... maybe I should ask her, after all. I take her hands carefully in mine.  
  
"Did he hurt you, Inci?"  
  
She blinks.  
  
"Why? What do you mean?..."  
  
"What did he do to you? You don't have to talk to him. I'm here at your orders. You want him dead, he's dead."  
  
She sighs and stands up clumsily. Ah, it's so easy to forget that she's pregnant. The sad, tired look is back in her eyes, the ominous flicker gone.  
  
"No, he hasn't hurt me yet, sweetie. I don't want him dead that much, it's just... you'll see. Let's go to the living-room, and you wait for me. I have to listen for him knocking at the gate. And to put my bloody gloves on."  
  
I was awakened from my slumber behind the parlour door by their voices, or rather by William Turner's voice. I could imagine Inci's face even before she sat on the sofa, I could imagine her glassy eyes saying nothing, along with her mouth that probably got shut after the obligatory remark about the weather. He was talking about the weather constantly, though, unnerved by Inci's stubborn silence.  
  
Now all the scene before me seems like a dream in which my past and present has met; I never thought I'd see Bill Turner again, and his son resembles him so much! The same thick curly hair, the same angry eyes and thin lips full of scorn. Even the way he moves - gracefully and proudly - is the same. And I remember his father so well, much though I wish to forget him... When did it all start?... We were fighting under Captain Barbossa's command for a long time, and one of us was always repaying another with the red-hot coin of hatred. It was Bill who won - or rather, he managed to get his revenge in a truly formidable way. I can still see that look in his eyes when we glanced at each other for the last time - he was scared himself of the fate he had prepared for me, he hoped it would be worse than death. And now - now death is his share, and his son is sitting under the merciless scrutiny of my little devil.  
  
They are watching each other in silence so deadly that I can hear the birds in the garden. Young Turner seems to be very ill at ease, for Inci doesn't encourage him in any way. No polite word escapes her lips, there is not a shade of a smile on her face. I can guess that it's the first time that he's encountered Inci alone, not in the Governor's company, and he certainly didn't expect such hostility. His big brown eyes start to assume a pleading look.  
  
"I am really sorry to intrude like this, Miss Dou," he stammers, desperate to break the silence.  
  
"I am sure you can explain, Mr Turner," says Inci.  
  
"I assure you that I took every possible measure not to be seen..."  
  
"I do not doubt that."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I must have scared you by such means of communication, but... there was no other way to contact you."  
  
"It was slightly... unusual, I must say."  
  
Silence.  
  
"My wife paid you an equally unexpected visit the other day, Miss Dou. I should apologize for it. She didn't mean anything... impolite. In fact, she spoke very highly of you."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Miss Dou, why I came here..."  
  
For the first time since they sat down, Inci moves on her sofa. She leans forward slowly, very slowly, crooking her neck, as if she wanted to look at her guest closer before devouring him - now she reminds me of a Chinese dragon even more. Her narrowed eyes are full of mischief and malice.  
  
"Why did you put off your precious wig, Mr Turner?" she hisses quietly.  
  
I can almost smell his fear. He's lost for words, gaping at Inci, forgetting everything, as if he saw a demon. But oh, does she look scary!...  
  
"Mr Turner?..."  
  
He blinks in bewilderment.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Dou... I didn't want to offend you. I thought it would be better if I came to see you in the attire of an ordinary man... so that nobody recognizes me too easily."  
  
"No, Mr Turner. It's not the reason of your not wearing the wig. You came here in order to speak with me honestly, didn't you? You didn't want to hide your worries behind some etiquette; let it stay that way. There's no need to stand on ceremony when you have real problems. Tell me, please, what brings you here."  
  
Now Inci's voice is so tender, so sweet and understanding, that young Turner seems as if he wanted to kiss her hands in joy. He doesn't ask himself where that previous enmity came from and where it's gone; he doesn't realize that it's only lying in ambush.  
  
"Ah, you're so right, Miss Dou," he says, and his honest brown eyes scream 'ah, I KNEW you were a good girl!' "In fact, I have a very delicate matter that I wanted to discuss with you."  
  
"Please, do tell me what it is, Mr Turner."  
  
"It's about my... it's about Governor Swann." He sighs heavily. "I know he paid you a visit yesterday... we weren't expecting that he'd be back so soon. He was extremely upset... I've never seen him so anxious and restless. Then it turned out that he suspects me of... of..."  
  
"Of what, Mr Turner?"  
  
"If I have your permission to say... he's suspicious of me... he thinks I'm trying to seduce you... that I'm in love with you, persecuting you, and... yes, yes, I know it's insane..."  
  
He's ready to laugh and he only waits for Inci, but her face is severe and cold.  
  
"Uhm," she says thoughtfully, "this is a real problem. And you want to dispel his suspicions by coming here? That was very unwise of you, let me tell you that."  
  
"I know it's a foolish thing to do, Miss Dou... but I thought it to be a thing of concern to us both."  
  
Inci raises her brows.  
  
"What makes you think this way?" she asks coolly.  
  
"The Governor is suspicious of you as well..."  
  
"I am not frightened in the least," she says, her voice cheerful. "I have nothing to hide, Mr Turner. Or do you think otherwise?..."  
  
I watch young Turner's face carefully. If Inci's fears of him spreading the gossip about her possible suitors are justifiable, now is the moment to find it. But no. His eyes widen, he starts to blink. He's innocent.  
  
"No, Miss Dou," he says plainly, "how could I?"  
  
"Why did you say that the Governor is suspicious of me, then?"  
  
"I didn't say it... I mean... I thought our situations might be similar."  
  
"Well, it's not," says Inci sharply. "The Governor happens to trust me."  
  
He hangs his head, ashamed.  
  
"Moreover, he loves me," she continues mercilessly. "And he is the father of my child... although it may be difficult to understand for some people. If you want to compromise me in his eyes, throwing me letters over the fence and coming to my house, Mr Turner, let me assure you it's not the right way, because, as I said, he trusts me and he has every reason to."  
  
"Miss Dou, please!... It wasn't my intention in the slightest!..."  
  
"Mr Turner," says Inci, smiling sadly, but patiently, "do not underestimate me."  
  
"I swear I didn't come here to damage your reputation," he whispers. "I came here to ask you a favour."  
  
Now Inci seems to be taken aback, but she controls herself quickly.  
  
"Oh," she says simply, pleasantly surprised.  
  
"I know the Governor trusts you more than anyone else. I know it's your word that matters. Please, Miss Dou, speak that word for me. Please, tell the Governor that it was a mistake, a stupid gossip, anything, and he will believe you. And I will be eternally grateful to you. I cannot stand the Governor's distrust. He's trying to estrange me, and for me, it's hard to stay in society without his support."  
  
Inci is silent.  
  
"You know who I was, Miss Dou. I won't hide it from you... you probably know it, but I'll tell it to you anyway... my father, he was a pirate. I was always thinking that he was a merchant sailor, but his... his good friend, who was a pirate too, told me the truth. I never wanted to believe this, I still don't, maybe. When I was a boy, I dreamed of my father coming for me, taking me away from the smithy. I believed he had money and position, I believed he would help me to get Elizabeth back. You know, I was allowed to play with her, when we were children, and when we grew up, she was taken away from me, she went to England... I waited for her and for my father... she came back, but my father never did, only his name... and in the way I started to hate it. I want to forget him now, I want to lead a better, honourable life... I want to be worthy of Elizabeth, to be a real gentleman, so that she won't feel shame for me when we get back to England and meet her family... and I need the Governor's support for it."  
  
Inci sighs impatiently, toying with her gloves. I smile to myself, remembering that there's no worse way to try to soften Inci's heart than telling her sentimental family tales.  
  
"And why are you telling me that?" she asks quietly.  
  
"I thought that you... you should understand me, Miss Dou," he answers even quieter.  
  
"Yes, you put it quite clearly," says Inci. "We're both using Governor Swann to climb some stairs, is that what you mean?... And it happens that I have more influence than you at the moment, so you're seeking my support. Is that it, Mr Turner?"  
  
"I will be really grateful to you if you speak in my favour."  
  
"You will be really grateful?"  
  
"I will, Miss Dou. If there's anything that I could do for you..."  
  
"Actually, yes, there is," says Inci with a slight smile.  
  
"Please tell me."  
  
"All right, Mr Turner. I convince the Governor that the only woman in your life is his own daughter Elizabeth. You, in turn, convince him that he should marry the mother of his child, that is, me. Do we have an accord?"  
  
He is rendered speechless; it was obviously the last thing he expected.  
  
"Mr Turner?..."  
  
"Miss Dou, I... I'm afraid I cannot do this."  
  
For a very short moment I feel something like respect for this young man who doesn't even want to lie, although it would be the easiest and most logical thing to do; but it's only a moment, for I can see clearly that it's more out of contempt towards Inci, and out of horror at the thought of the courtesan being allowed into the honourable house, than out of honesty and principles. I saw exactly the same disdain and disgust in his father's eyes every time he talked to me or even looked at me - and it might have been ridiculous when directed at me, but it's unforgivable directed at Inci now.  
  
"Of course you cannot," she says simply.  
  
"Miss Dou, please... anything but this."  
  
"And you dared to demand that I should understand you!..."  
  
"Please think," he tries to be reasonable. "There's no way that the Governor can... can fulfil your wishes. I promise I will tell him everything possible to assure your future... and the future of your child, but..."  
  
"Very well, Mr Turner, now you're telling me that the big Swann family has a bowl for one dog only? They can have you, but they can't have me? You're such a big dog that a little cat like me will have to go empty-bellied?... And what do YOU understand? You will always be an arriviste to them, no matter how much you try!..."  
  
"I am a honest man, Miss Dou," he says meekly.  
  
"Oh really? You smuggled a criminal out of the prison! You stole the Navy's ship and let it be destroyed! Your father would be proud of you!"  
  
"I did it to save Elizabeth," he says, clenching his fists, restraining himself. "And my father was a pirate, but he didn't commit any hideous crime that he should be ashamed of."  
  
"I wonder how you can be so sure of it," Inci retorts lightly.  
  
"I wonder if there's anything that you know about my father that I don't," he whispers.  
  
"There is, in fact. Your father betrayed his captain. Before that, he betrayed somebody else and left him to torture and slow, painful death. No wonder you don't know of it, because you've heard of it from his best buddy Sparrow, and he has his own book of fairy tales to tell the likes of you."  
  
"Who... you knew my father? Who are you?"  
  
Inci is silent again, watching him mockingly.  
  
"Who are you, please, tell me... What is... what do you..."  
  
But he isn't sure if he really wishes to gaze into the darkness again. His words die on his lips; it's painful to look at his pale face.  
  
"Go back to your elegant, safe world, Mr Turner," she says, sighing. "You don't want to know the things that I know. Just please, keep in mind that everything has two sides, and usually neither one is entirely right... and as for Governor Swann, here's my advice: try not to seek the support of your foes, if you have nothing that helps you to turn them into your friends. Or to destroy them. Farewell, Mr Turner, best regards to your lovely wife."  
  
He doesn't want to look at her any more, he can't stand being here. I open the parlour door, listening to him running down the staircase. Inci takes a deep breath.  
  
"At least we know it's not him spreading the gossip," she says.  
  
I embrace her and rub my nose against her cheek.  
  
"You don't have to hate him so," I say. "He's quite plain, don't you think?"  
  
"I don't hate him. And yes, he's plain, but he's false as well. Crooked. Tries to appeal to my little black heart, but doesn't like to admit that his own heart is sooty as hell. Wants to save his dignity, pshew!... And all this family talk!... I feel sick."  
  
"You're tired, love. You talked so much."  
  
"We're tired," says Inci quietly, "both of us."  
  
"Yes."  
  
I feel her eyes on me, eyes full of concern and care. This look - her good look - is only for me. I feel like an ungrateful bastard, and suddenly I shudder; it's difficult to breathe for a moment, as if a cold shadow of some evil foreboding has passed through the room.  
  
"I'm doing it for you," she says quietly. "And Norrington. I don't care for anybody else. And Sophie and Elizabeth are not to be harmed."  
  
"I know," I say, snuggling her to me. She rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit for a moment in silence.  
  
"You smell of that Navy man," she murmurs.  
  
"Uhm. Need to wash myself."  
  
"Want to go back to the Red Stocking?"  
  
I look at her, surprised.  
  
"I want what you want, Inci."  
  
"I don't know what I want," she says, sighing. "We should bottle up Gibbs as quickly as possible, but I need at least a day more for one mixture to simmer. You told Groves that you'll be back next morning?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"We can sleep together till the morning, civilly, like innocent children, and you'll go back to the Red Stocking... but to tell the truth, it's nothing pleasant to sleep here. You'll have a mighty headache next day. I'd prefer to sleep in the living room, but there's a danger that Sophie may see us."  
  
"I'd better simply go back now," I say. I feel hollow. "You have to take some sleep. If you don't need me, it's foolish to risk. The less we are together, the better. I'll come tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"That's the best way," she says, hanging her head.  
  
"Hey, don't be so sad, little devil. I'm not leaving yet. We can dine together."  
  
She brightens up immediately.  
  
"You're hungry?"  
  
"As always."  
  
"Um, Ritchie, do you know what?... If we quit the bed, maybe we can drink instead?"  
  
"Oh, Inci, you read my mind!..."  
  
"All right, now that you're still sober, hear my words. You have a free day tomorrow. Use it at your will, but remember, you must come here after midnight."  
  
"Not in the afternoon?"  
  
"No... I need more time, if we're going to drink now, sweetie. I'm not made of iron. When you come, we're going to take care of Gibbs. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, m'lady."  
  
"You're allowed to do whatever you want with Groves, but don't come here sleepy, or I'll beat you with Sophie's poker."  
  
tbc 


	5. Is innocence so void of Cares

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belongs to Disney, and the song "Justa fue mi perdicion" belongs to Francisco de la Torre and Jorge Manrique (its translation was done by Lawrence Sisk).

A/N: 1) Tophane is one of the northern districts of Istanbul. 2) "Huz min hapanim" is a countercurse meaning "away from our faces" in Hebrew.

I'd like to thank all my loyal reviewers and readers, and ask your forgiveness for the delay. I'm really sorry. Alteng, BlackJackSilver, Cupcakeswirl, Elaneon, Eldrid - I love you and please accept my apologies.

V

Inci is standing by my side, holding a candlestick and weeping. Big pearly tears are rolling down her little face, she's sniffing loudly like a scared baby.

I asked her once what she thought about when she cried like that, and it turned out that she's recalling the day when Lady Selanik, the leader of a dance troupe from Tophane, died of seventeen knife wounds. Lady Selanik was very fond of little Inci, always caressing her and giving her sweets; it was Inci who found her beautiful friend choking on her blood, her hands bound by a white scarf, a love poem embroidered with green thread on it. Lady Selanik's death is the darkest memory of Inci's Istanbul childhood and therefore the surest one to bring tears to her sweet eyes. Every time Inci needs to appear unhappy, Lady Selanik is eager to help.

She didn't fail this time either. Poor Gibbs on the floor is horrified to see Inci - ah, pardon me, Mlle Isabella Dou is the name that the Port Royal folks know her by - all in tears, trembling and miserable. Her skinny hand encircled around her huge belly tries to protect the baby inside her. She does her best not to raise her voice; she doesn't want to enrage me, for sure.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, lady," I say to her, gesturing with my pistol. "Just be quiet about all this, feed Gibbs properly, and I promise that you'll come to no harm. I'm not that interested in hurting women and babies. But if you happen to change your mind, I'd just like you to know that not only won't you see your old Sophie again, but your child - born or not - won't be safe from me, either."

Inci sniffs, covering her face.

"I hope you'll be cooperating, uncle Gibbs," I say to him, grinning broadly. I'd bet Inci envies me now, because I can smile and she can't. "Just don't cause Mademoiselle Dou and me any trouble, or your chances to see your sister again are rather thin."

"You're the most dishonourable piece of shit I've ever seen, Ritchie Brown," he spits out. "Not even your captain, who was a Devil's cousin himself, would have hurt women and children."

"And it didn't do him any good, now did it?" I ask him. "He'd be much better off if he killed this sweet Mrs Turner that all you good pirates seem to be so fond of. And I haven't done anything to your sister yet, but can change my mind, if you don't behave nicely."

Gibbs shifts uncomfortably on the stone floor when I look thoughtfully at Inci. She blinks, forgetting to weep. Her eyes are so beautiful, deep dark with thousands of flickers, and I don't know if they come from the candles she's holding or from her inner hellish fire that never ceases to burn. I know only that I cannot help myself, when I have my little imp so close.

"Such a pretty girl you are, Mademoiselle Dou," I say with a smile, making a step towards her. She backs away, raising the candlestick threateningly. Ah, isn't she perfect?

"Hey, Ritchie," pants Gibbs, "stop it, damn you... Leave the lady alone!"

"Are you going to smack me with this thingy, love?" I ask her patiently, making another step. "It'll become very, very dark in here. You could stumble and hurt yourself. Or even your precious baby."

"You dirty bastard," says Gibbs under his breath, wriggling, trying desperately to get rid of his bonds. "Don't you dare... Fer God's sake, she's pregnant!..."

I'm pretending that I don't hear him at all, with my eyes on Inci, who lowers the candlestick and makes a move as if she wanted to run away up the basement stairs.

"Where are you going, little girl? To talk to your big governor? Do you know what would happen when he finds out that you have some old pirate in the abandoned house? He's going to hang him. And his poor old sister will die of sorrow. You can't do that to them."

Inci stops and looks at Gibbs helplessly. He is desperate to get my attention.

"Ritchie, you son of a bitch... I swear... I will do anything you want. I won't move not an inch from here, just let her go... let her go, do you hear me!"

I step so close to Inci that I can feel how much all this crying has warmed her little body. Her eyelids are swollen just so slightly, the dark tresses on her temples are damp and she smells of raisins even more than usual.

"You are too precious a jewel to be wasted on any man," I say before I touch her cheek. Then I kiss her hastily, deeply and roughly, caressing her neck and arms - Inci laughs into my mouth, but it can be easily mistaken for a sob - while poor Gibbs is thrashing, swearing and cursing on the stones. Damn, we have to get him a mattress, or he's going to catch a cold.

Inci does a good job, pretending to struggle with me, and I let her push me away.

"Mi-mister Gibbs..." she moans, sliding heavily down to the floor near his head.

"God, Miss Dou," he replies, his voice trembling, "I'm truly sorry... it's... I promise I won't cause you any trouble... and you can be sure that my Captain won't get caught so easily, you trust me. He will come here and he will help us."

Inci wipes her eyes with a quite confused sigh.

"Uhm," I say, "I can understand that you don't want to dignify me with a word, lady, but I just want to make things clear. You're in no danger unless you try to cheat me. And I must say that you're so sweet that if uncle Gibbs tries to disobey or to escape, it's you who's going to pay for him... hmm... according to the offence. For example, he calls me names and I kiss you. One kiss for each word. Oh, I do like the idea! Hey, mate, say something, quick. I could do with one more kiss. No?... Awww, now you've really disappointed me."

When Inci and me leave the basement, it's already dawn, but fortunately the street is still empty. I wait in the garden, watching Inci go back inside her house, where Gibbs' sister, Sophie, is sleeping a heavy sleep caused by Inci's potion.

Everything went just as we planned. Gibbs and Sophie didn't realize that there's something more in their ale than they prefer; and Sophie had to eat some of her mistress' chicken soup, because Inci was complaining that it tasted bitter. And since the potion that Inci added to the soup was a bit different to the one in the ale, Sophie's sleep is sounder than her brother's, but also much healthier; she didn't drink all of her ale and went to bed very early.

Poor Gibbs woke up shortly after we transported him to the abandoned house on the opposite side of the street. Of course it was me who was carrying him, or rather dragging him along; Inci was taking care of the candles, the blanket, and the ropes we used to bind him. We needed Gibbs to be awake before we left, because we didn't want him to cry for help or throw a tantrum. The house had been abandoned for a long time and the garden around it is pretty big, but you never know who might hear the noise. We had to be sure that Gibbs understood his situation.

I was honest with him. I told him he was the bait to lure Jack Sparrow to Port Royal. I told him I'm going to give Sparrow away to the authorities, that is, to Commodore Norrington. I told him I have his sister as a prisoner and that Inci is going to take care of him, because if she doesn't, I'm going to hurt her and Sophie. I told him I don't have anything against him personally, not even all those lies he told about me that morning in the Red Stocking. Nothing could make him happy, though. He called me a monster and promised me that Sparrow would break every bone in my body, while Anamaria poured hot tar on my wounds, and he, Gibbs, held me still. Thus he made me kiss Inci again; it was a very deep kiss, and when I finished it, Gibbs was almost crying, apologizing and begging me to stop. And when we left him, we were sure that he'd be humble as a nun.

Thus our quiet waiting has begun. There is nothing more that needs doing, not for a week or so. Gibbs is allowed to stay in Port Royal two days more, and then he's supposed to go back to Tortuga, because Sparrow's crew is there, preparing the Black Pearl before sailing to Cancun. I think it's going to take about six days for Sparrow to begin worrying about Gibbs, and then I will go to Tortuga to parley with him. My little devil is really scared of that, and she doesn't miss any opportunity to remind me about the danger. She is afraid of Sparrow; she doesn't want me to go to Tortuga, where he's surrounded by his men, and the very fact that he was able to kill my Captain gives him a half-god status in her eyes.

Why didn't I tell her about what I heard from Groves? Why am I silent about the possibility of Barbossa being alive? I don't know. There's not many secrets we hide away from one another, and yet we have them. Maybe this is why we can't live together. Both of us have that dark taint, something in our blood that drives us towards what people call chaos, corruption and madness, and what we call freedom; but when we give ourselves up to it, we go alone. I go through my own dark passages, and Inci has her own paths too; we don't follow one another's steps, and when one of us leaves, the other turns their back and doesn't watch.

Inci is pregnant and I don't want to leave her, but I know that if she finds out about my Captain, she'll be sure I'm going to go away. I won't tell her anything now.

If you don't count caring for Gibbs - we visit him in turns - we're spending our days on sweet leisure. Inci shares her time and bed between me and her governor; from time to time she plays cards with Sophie, who is rather anxious about her brother, but who understands that he might have some urgent business. I share my time and bed between Inci and Groves, who visits me every afternoon. Sometimes he stays until morning. If he could, he wouldn't leave my room at all.

"Don't you have to be on duty tomorrow?"

"I will be there in time."

"You'll be sleepy all day."

"Are you trying to chase me out, Ritchie?"

"I don't want you to spend your next day under arrest because you fell asleep on duty."

"Don't worry," he whispers, opening my shirt. He's quick to learn. I haven't had to undress myself anymore since the first time.

He doesn't take his eyes off me. His hands are always on me. He's studying me with a mix of contempt, curiosity and incredulity, as if I were some mythical creature which he thought non-existent until now. I saw the same look in Norrington's eyes. Ah, decent people. They can't believe that they are in the same room with me, they can't believe that I'm still alive with them loathing me so much; for loathing is what they feel for me, even if they desire me at times.

Groves loathes me for a whole bunch of things. He cannot look away, when I'm walking through the room completely naked, but he's red as a brickmaker.

"Ritchie, for God's sake... you could dress yourself at least when you're eating!"

"It's hot as hell, and... uhm, officer, do you really want me to dress? Methinks it's a waste of time."

He blushes, then changes the subject:

"What are these bite marks on your shoulder?"

"Got 'em from you," I try.

"You know it's not me."

He's right. He never uses his mouth on me, except for kissing. On the mouth. So much for the finesse.

"Uh, it's my girl."

"You're seeing a girl here?"

"Well, yes. She lives by the harbour. She knows a lot about folks who sail here."

"Is she your lover?"

"I don't love her, if that's what you mean."

"So you're trading your body again. This time for information."

"I like her a lot."

"It isn't a business to you, then."

"Both," I say. "Business and love business."

"You sleep with men and women. Whom do you prefer?"

"Both," I say, reaching for the bread. He snatches the tray from before me.

"Stop stuffing your stomach for one moment!" he yells. "I'm talking to you now. Do you ever do anything except for eating, fucking and sleeping!"

I can think about one activity more, but I'm not sure it'd make him happy, so I just sigh and lean on the hard pillows, looking at him. He sits by the table, dressed in his breeches - he always puts them on, when we're resting - angry and impatient.

"It's not true you like both sexes. You must feel better with one of them," he demands.

"Well, each one is different," I say, "but that's the point. Women satisfy me in one way and men in the other."

"You're seeing your girl, because I can't satisfy you."

"No... uh, well, if you put it that way, yes. And I'm coming back to you because she can't satisfy me. I need you both. What is so unusual about it?"

It's his turn to sigh.

"I can't... I don't feel anything for women."

"What do you mean?"

"This is why I can't believe you. I cannot believe that you find men desirable and... and beautiful, and at the same time you can sleep with women. There's nothing interesting in a woman's body. She's soft and weak, and full of tears and shrieks and stupidity."

"Oh, I know, I've met people like you," I say cheerfully. "But the only thing you need is to stop fearing women. One day you will fall in love with a girl. You know, men are strong and all that, but women are much more beautiful, if you ask me. And as for their character, there are quite reserved and powerful women too. And I know many women who could easily outwit men. Or do you know what? Let's invite one girl to bed. I'll show you how..."

"Ritchie, you're sliding down to hell on a greased pole."

"Aye, greased it must be," I blurt out, and he hides his face in his hands.

I know how terrified he must be after - oh no, in the midst of - all that we do in bed. When he finishes with me, he always seeks something in my face. I guess it's a sense of shame, maybe remorse of what we had just done. But he never finds a trace of it. I smile at him, sometimes I ask how it was, sometimes I just stretch my body and go to sleep, and my sleep is deep and sound - how could it be otherwise with Inci's urging eyes in my mind? I feel that should I show the slightest sign of reflection, he would think that there's no salvation for him and that he's damned already, because he should know better than me.

"Ritchie, do you realize it's a sin?"

"Sure I do."

"Do you ever think about it?"

"About what?"

"Leave that lute alone!... A sin."

"Which one?"

"Don't play stupid with me. A sin of Sodom."

"Well, Sodom or not, it goes under one name of Lust, anyway. You have to confess that you sinned with lust, and there you go free."

"Stop plucking that damned lute."

"Hey, everything is a sin today. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't fuck because it's sin, is music a crime now, officer?... And my lute needs some tenderness from time to time. Oh, I know, I'll sing you a song about a sin."

That's the first time when I can prove to him that I'm really a musician.

"Justa fue mi perdicion,

de mis males soy contento;

ya no espero galardon,

pues vuestro merecimiento

satisfizo a mi pasion."

It's nice to see him soften. He knows Spanish, and he understands these simple words: "my perdition was just, and I'm content with my sins; I expect no reward, for your favor satisfied my passion."

Yet he despises me for my shamelessness, opportunism, depravity and lack of higher feelings. It's a point of honor for him to despise himself too, because of the desire he feels for me. I'm afraid that this self-loathing may take over some day. As for me, I don't feel any desire for him. I'm perfectly cold; only from time to time I'm able to derive some pleasure from his rough caresses, although he allowed me to be what he calls 'in charge' only once. I need him, that's all. Sometimes I pity him, sometimes I fear him, but most of the time I deceive him. I can't help it.

There was that day when he didn't touch me, but sat by the door, looking at me without a word. I was sitting on the bed, mending my shirt. He didn't move, when I invited him to sit near me.

"Why doesn't your harbour girl do the sewing for you?"

"She's busy," I said thinking of Inci playing lute for poor Sophie and carrying food for Gibbs. "I can mend my clothes without her help."

"Sometimes I feel you lie to me even in your sleep."

Uhm, you're right, I thought, threading a needle; but I was silent. It's better to say nothing in such moments. You defend yourself, you accuse yourself.

"Sometimes I think your girl doesn't even exist."

Don't think of following me, when I'm visiting Inci, Lieutenant Groves, or it will be the worse for you, however much I'd like to prevent it, I thought.

"I've talked to certain people here who happen to remember you and your captain. And I've heard interesting things."

"Really?... I was only a humble pirate, officer. I'm surprised to hear that anyone would even remember my name."

"They say..."

He halted his words suddenly. It was the first time I looked up at him. His voice was strained and full of pain.

"What do they say?"

"They say that you... you were Barbossa's... God. You know what I mean... and you were faithful to him."

"I was Barbossa's God-you-know-what-I-mean?"

"You were his lover," he said harshly.

I should have laughed, but I couldn't. A sudden wave of anger washed over me, and I made a mistake - I looked Groves straight in the eye.

He understood me only partially. He saw death in my stare, and got up immediately, his hand reaching for his pistol.

"So that is true," he said through clenched teeth.

"You're a fool, Lieutenant."

"Yes, I was a fool to trust you."

"As if you had ever trusted me!" I yelled. "All you do is spy on me and count my words! What the hell do you want from me? Tired of me already, eh?..."

"No more lies and excuses, Ritchie," he said with some sort of pained triumph in his voice. "I read a few very interesting documents regarding you and your captain, and I drew a few conclusions no less interesting. You were with Barbossa day and night for nearly five years. You served him and fought for him. You never tried to escape or to serve under any other man. The crew hated you, he was the only one who protected you, and you never went against him. And in the end you..."

"And what the hell are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not stupid. You ruined all your life for that man. You wouldn't have done half of those things if you hadn't been his lover."

"You're confusing things," I said furiously. "First, I would've done thrice as much only to keep myself alive. Second, your fancy ideas don't belong to the world you're talking about. Find yourself a lass, if you want to throw a fit of jealousy. Men like Barbossa don't take cabin boys for lovers. They just fuck them."

Groves blushed, but tried to keep his ground.

"Why didn't you run away from him?"

"Where to, pray tell?... I had no family in the New World. I was only fourteen. You think it was only me who was forced into piracy?... At first, I stayed because I was too frightened to run away, and when we moored somewhere, I was kept locked in the brig. And then, after I'd been into battle and killed people, I figured out there's no way back."

If only Groves knew the truth that I was dragging him away from!... The slightest idea of parting with Barbossa had never entered my mind. If only Groves knew that on my first landing in the New World, when our ship, La Aranha, moored at Antigua, I paid more attention to Barbossa's lady-love, Rose O'Mallory, than to my own freedom; that on our second landing on St. Thomas I was allowed to go free, but I didn't even set my foot on land; that the Captain himself wanted to get rid of me so many times, but in vain!...

Groves left his chair by the door and sat near me on the bed.

"You say they forced you to become a pirate," he said, looking into my eyes, "but as far as I know, you had more than one chance to turn against them. You never did. You were loyal to Barbossa."

"I got accustomed to things," I answered, holding his gaze. "Barbossa was a good captain, he had his big share of luck, he knew how and when to fight, and he knew with whom to keep alliances. And he wasn't that bad, if you knew how to please him."

"Did he please you?..." Groves asked in a whisper.

I shook my head patiently.

"Another fancy idea of yours, Lieutenant. I was the youngest of his crew, I was amongst the spoils of war, and was treated as such. It's fair game, but there's no pleasure included."

"He forced you to be his whore, then."

"Simple, ain't it?..."

If Groves could see me, when I was Barbossa's cabin boy, he would just cross himself. Everything I did had only one purpose - to make the Captain touch me, no matter how; I was happy even when beaten. He didn't have to force me, I was the most willing whore in the world!... Forgive me, Captain, I thought, forgive me for blaming you for my own folly; if you are alive, I'll escape from Groves, I'll fly to your side and prove my words false once again.

Groves sighed, took the shirt and the needle from me and made me raise my head.

"I don't know what possessed me to think that you could have felt anything benevolent for that man," he said quietly, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"Lieutenant Groves, fuck doesn't equal love. We are a nice example."

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking his hands off me and frowning.

"We're having a nice time together, we like each other, but it's not love."

He watched me for a while, then smiled sadly and looked away.

"I'm not sure what I'm feeling," he said in a quiet voice, with his eyes on the once-white jug we were using for washing. "I wish you were right."

Oh no, I thought in panic.

"I am deadly right," I said, slipping my hands into his shirt. He jumped up. "It's called pleasure, Lieutenant. Carnal pleasure, nothing more. Don't you feel too sorry for me, because I've learned a few quite useful things being a cabin boy, and I haven't shown you all of them yet."

"How can you be so dispassionate about yourself?" he asked almost painfully, turning around to look at me.

"Dispassionate, why?... because I can make fun of the whole thing? Should I cry or what?..."

He embraced me suddenly.

"I just wanted to know... forgive me, Ritchie," he murmured, breathing in my ear. "It's true that we have usually more than one motive when we do something... I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right. I'm free now. At last I can pay back what I am due to Barbossa, if he's alive," I said. "With Commodore Norrington's help... and with yours, if you are willing."

"I most certainly am." He clenched his teeth. "But you should take care. I know Barbossa trusted you once, but he's shrewd, and you're still too inexperienced to deceive him. And he's cruel and ruthless like no other. He didn't even hesitate to kidnap and hurt the Governor's daughter. Who knows what would have befallen her if Turner hadn't rescued her. Your captain is a monster."

"Every pirate is," I noted innocently.

"They are mostly worthless sinners, that's right, but I've seen at least one man who could escape from a prison and steal a ship without killing a soul."

"Hey, where's your catechism, little Theodore? A soul is immortal, you can't kill it anyway. And who is that hero of yours?" I asked, although I knew an answer.

"I was a witness to how Jack Sparrow stole the Interceptor, the fastest ship in the Caribbean, from under the very eyes of Commodore Norrington, only with Turner's help, and sailed to Tortuga. No one got hurt, just a few men took an unexpected bath, that was all."

"Must have been quite a sight."

"Oh, it was." He leaned on the windowsill. "That time I thought that Sparrow was the best pirate I've ever seen. I suppose I made the Commodore slightly angry, because I didn't keep that observation to myself."

"You admire Sparrow, then."

"I can't admire a pirate, Ritchie, I'm an officer of the Royal Navy. But I admired his courage and wit, yes. And I appreciate that he managed to get away without bloodshed."

"You don't think he deserves the gallows?"

"I'd rather not be a judge in his case. But I was glad he escaped the noose." He looked at me. "He's surely a legend. You don't think so?"

"I'd be happy if you were glad when I escape the noose too, some day," I said.

"You already did, when you became the Royal Navy's informer, didn't you? I'm sure the Commodore will rehabilitate you if you help him to catch Barbossa and his men who are still around."

"Oh, I'll help the Commodore, no doubt about that," I said. "I have to go to Tortuga soon."

"Do you expect Barbossa's men to show up there?" He frowned suddenly.

There was something in his voice which made me look closer at him.

"What if I do?"

"Does Commodore Norrington know about it?"

"Not yet. That is fresh news. I'm going to see him on Saturday... Why?"

"The Royal Navy restored peace to these waters and is determined to keep it. Tortuga ceased to be a pirate's abode and is much safer nowadays than in Barbossa's time, but in order to preserve the state of things the Navy has to patrol the area. The Dauntless and the Intrepid will sail to Tortuga next week, probably on Thursday."

I sat up, excited.

"Are you going there too, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, I am, along with other officers."

"Oh, isn't that great! We're going to Tortuga together, then!"

"What are you talking about!"

"I have yet to inform the Commodore, but..."

"Ritchie, you're insane," he said, shaking his head. "Commodore Norrington cannot let you go aboard the ship of the Royal Navy. You may be his informer, but this has to remain a secret until you can be openly acquitted of all charges."

"And there is only one way for me to acquit myself," I said excitedly. "I have an extremely important task to fulfill. I am to meet somebody who can lead me to Barbossa. From what I am told, he is probably alive. And before I get to him, I may be able to catch some small fry too. Listen, this is Divine Providence at work. The Royal Navy will be ready to assist me, when the time comes. And I am more likely to make people on Tortuga talk, than all of you Navy men."

"Impossible. Do you think that nobody here remembers you? There are not only young officers like me in the Royal Navy. There are men who has been in service for a long time. They met Barbossa, they might have met you. You didn't probably change much, and -" he pointed to my hand, "you have a pirate brand."

"I know how to make myself unrecognizable. I just need your help," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

"I cannot help you if I don't know what you're up to." He started to waver.

"But you will, if I tell you what I'm going to do?"

"I'm not sure."

"Oh, try to trust me for a change!... Don't you understand you can get some credit for it too?... And I promise you that even if I don't bring some dangerous criminals to justice, I will render Commodore Norrington quite pleased anyway. Oh, and didn't you promise me just a while ago that you'd be glad to help me deal with Barbossa and his men?"

Groves started to blink confusedly.

"If you could promise me that you won't get caught..."

"Don't you worry, Lieutenant Groves."

"Now tell me your plan."

At first he was horrified to hear what I was going to do. He called me a lunatic and swore that he won't have a share in my mad schemes. But I wasn't mistaken: I saw an excited light in his eyes, the same light which was there when he was talking about Sparrow stealing the Interceptor. The boy would make a formidable gentleman of fortune, if given a chance. The vision of having me at hand did the rest, and he only bade me seek the Commodore's permission, which I wasn't in the least intending to do.

I saw the poor fellow on Saturday, of course. He did come to the Red Stocking, pretending that he was there only for a drink, and didn't even look at me much (Groves was watching us discreetly). Norrington was strangely relieved when I told him that Sparrow wasn't in Port Royal yet; but he was waiting for news, and he flushed violently when I added that Sparrow would be there, probably next week. Then he lost all his interest in me; he got up from his half-full glass of shitty claret and marched out of the Red Stocking, his eyes shiny and his face utterly confused. I was happy to see him in that state.

The next day I went to see Inci, who was extremely anxious about my plan, but also very eager to get all things done. Her time was coming; there was less than a month left. It had become increasingly difficult for her to move, and she had to care for Gibbs and for Sophie. I promised her to abandon the plan and to run away to her at the first sight of danger. She seemed much relieved to know that I was able to enlist Groves's help so easily.

"Oh, he's a good fellow, then," she said. "The tanned one with bright eyes, right?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"He's got a lot of piratey spirit, I'd say. It's a pity that he serves the Navy. Maybe you should try to win him over to Barbossa's side."

"No such chance, little imp. He hates Barbossa."

"Awww, how could you leave it at that?"

"He saw Sparrow when he was stealing the Interceptor with Turner, and fell in love with him."

"Maybe he's in love with Sparrow, but he's sleeping with you."

"And that's why he hates Barbossa."

"You mean he's jealous, or what?"

"I had to make him believe that Barbossa had me against my will."

Inci burst out laughing.

"Ah, Ritchie, sweetie, that is a lie that any woman would be proud of! You make a perfect girl, you do!... We'll get you a nice dress, and nobody's going to recognize you. Don't you get married in Tortuga!..."

"Why not? You got married already - what, twice?..."

"Awww, we're in the New World now, aren't we? Those old things don't count!..."

"Surely not to me," I said, kissing her. "We'll marry you to the Governor this time. You will have even more dresses than you have now, so you can spare me one."

"You prefer a yellow one or a light-green one?"

"Oh, I trust you in these matters."

"The yellow one goes well with your eyes, but you must pass for a modest young widow... uhh, we'd better have a black dress, but you will look old in black. The green one should do."

Inci wasn't surprised in the slightest, when I told her that I'm simply going to go aboard the Dauntless as a honest British woman. The Navy mission wasn't strictly a military one, it was just a customary patrol, so that the civillians who wished to travel safely were allowed onboard. Groves didn't even mention the Black Pearl, and I was a little anxious that Sparrow would leave Tortuga before I managed to parley with him. I was counting on his friendship towards Gibbs, though.

The plan was risky, but I had no other choice than to sneak into Tortuga in disguise. I was sure that Sparrow's men were hanging around in the harbour, and I didn't want to be killed or caught before I could meet Sparrow on my own terms. As a lonely woman, on the other hand, I needed assistance.

It was Inci who suggested that I pretend to be mute. I was sure of my voice, being taught to work wonders with it, but then - Lieutenant Groves taking care of a helpless woman unable to speak would be a much more natural thing.

Inci suggested also that I undergo some special treatments. For four days - or rather nights - I was being treated like an Arabian bride. Inci complained about backside pains and made Sophie bring her hot water upstairs in the night - but it was me who took the baths, every day with different herbs. I was fed with strange things like yolks stirred with sugar, or vegetable dishes with all sort of spices. I got my face smeared with some kind of clay and was told to lay back motionless for an hour, which made me almost mad.

"Inci, love, have mercy. I've done it once already."

"You will do it three times more," she said, bending over me. "And don't move, damn you!... I'm supposed to stay clean!"

"Why do I have to endure it four times?"

"Because the mixture is different every day. Listen, Ritchie, you're thirty now, and you have led a rough life. You need some preparation before you approach a bunch of British Navy officers. We must make your skin soft and your hair shine."

"Oh, I understand that, but you don't have to bother about, say, my fingernails. I have to wear gloves anyway."

"It'd be better when you take one glove off for a moment. I've stretched them in hot water, so... Now what did I tell you? Lay still, for God's sake!"

"Please, little imp, at least sing me something. I feel like I'm dead already, lying here with some mud on my face."

"Hey, have some decency!... I've got to take in the green dress for you. I can't ask Sophie for it, you know." She chuckled. "Funny, that. Never thought you'd ever have a better waist than me."

Four days have passed and today is my last night before leaving for Tortuga. I'm walking slowly through the tired streets of Port Royal. The earth expires peacefully, sighing with relief after another hot day, the stars twinkle over the fences and walls covered with bougainvillea and jasmine. If not for the donkey dung and dead animals here and there, it'd be a paradise on Earth.

Inci is waiting for me in the garden, so I guess Sophie must have had a nice dose of sleeping potion in her ale again. I sneak through the slightly open gate, and Inci clings to me before I can speak a word.

"I'll bloody miss you," she murmurs. "Let's stay in the garden, I don't want to go upstairs right now."

We sit down on the little bench under the gentle moon. Inci sighs, and I can see that her eyes are dark from thoughts.

"Maybe," she whispers, "maybe you should wait. Maybe Sparrow will come here by himself."

"I think he doesn't realize that something bad might have befallen Gibbs. I have to talk and to bargain with him. It's going to take no more than four, five days in total. Just have some patience, love, and then I promise I will take care of your Governor and his whole household."

"I don't need your help!..."

I take her hand and place a little package in it.

"What is this?"

"My lute," I say, smiling at her. "Or should I say my Captain's lute?... Made handsome money, it did. Musical instruments are still quite rare in the Caribbean. Take it. You never know might need money. I'd sell my pistol too, but..."

"Ritchie, 'tis not funny!... You sold the lute, because... because... oh, I told you not to mess with Sparrow!..."

"Inci, Sparrow has nothing to do with it. Things happen. We can drown..."

"Huz min hapanim," says Inci quietly, rubbing her forehead against my shoulder. She can't bring herself to talk about death, and she has to chase the very thought away.

"... or something can hit me on the head... You'd better have the money. And when I come back, I'll buy the lute back again."

Inci sighs, but there's nothing more she can say. I don't know why I have this uneasy feeling that I should stay and just cling to Inci, like she is clinging to me now. I shouldn't leave her alone with the unborn baby, cowardly Governor Swann, ambitious young Turner, proud and cunning Elizabeth, helpless Sophie and demanding Gibbs on her hands. Then again, Inci can look after herself. She's walked through half the world without my assistance.

"Remember, should you need help, you may turn to Norrington," I remind her in the morning, putting myself into the green dress. "He's a man of honor, and I think he likes you. And you like him too, don't you?"

"Mind your own business," Inci advises me, yawning and examining her supplies of rouge and poudre. "I'd bet he prefers Elizabeth over me, when it comes to women. Just like he preferred Sparrow over you... Hey, don't pull that lace, stupid!... Do the gloves fit? I stretched 'em pretty much."

"The gloves are fine, but why is this bloody skirt so long?"

"Because your boots show, that's why."

"I can't use mules, little imp."

"That I know. Take care... ahh, Ritchie! You look so sweet! I want you back!"

I can't help chuckling to myself now, standing aboard the Dauntless, when I recall Groves's first reaction at my new appearance. His bright eyes were big as teacups, then he blushed, slowly, but completely, up to his ears. I know what he was thinking about - he hadn't been allowed to touch me for these five days, because Inci didn't want any new bruises on my skin ("hell, Ritchie, you have to show some neckline").

"I thought you don't like women," I hiss through my teeth, when Groves approaches me again. He hasn't got much to do now. It's past afternoon, the wind is good, the little group of civilians going to Tortuga are dozing off on their trunks and parcels. I'm standing by the railing near the forecastle, with my own little bundle by my side. There's not much in there, only a change of clothes.

"You look good, no matter what you wear," says Groves sheepishly. He's simply disarming, and I have to smile at him. Oh God, am I cheap!...

"Ahem... excuse me, there is somebody here who'd consider an honour to be introduced to you. He's my friend, Lieutenant Gillette. You know," he whispers, "he saw me lending you my hand when you were going aboard. It's the first time he saw me with a woman, so you understand..."

I fight an urge to laugh, answering Groves with a little ashamed gesture only. How relieving that I don't have to talk.

Lieutenant Gillette is the very man whom I saw on that memorable day at the Red Stocking, when Commodore Norrington bought me a bowl of soup. He was watching the Commodore and me at the hall downstairs, then he was watching the door of our room, and then he fell asleep, allowing me to take my leave with Commodore's pistol. I remember his round, clean face and proud blue eyes rather well, although I was ill and drunk that time. I don't remember his white wig, and it almost makes me smile. I don't know why, but I always find wigs quite amusing, especially on men's heads.

Groves performs the solemn presentation, introducing me as Mrs. Rebecca Somers, a widow of a British soldier, who died in HRH's service. Mrs. Somers is sailing to Tortuga on some extremely delicate family matter, and Lieutenant Groves is kindly helping her, being obliged to do so by his old London friend, who happens to be a good acquaintance of Mrs. Somers' late husband - a nice chain of lies..

Lieutenant Gillette doesn't seem to care much for Mrs. Somers' plans and connections, but I can see he is anxious to know if his mate is infatuated with me, and if I am worthy of him. Groves treats me with respect maybe too great for a lady who cannot even afford a servant, but it's obvious (or so I hope) that Mrs. Somers is a person who might have seen better times, ere she was stricken by poverty and loneliness. Mrs. Somers is so embarrassed by Lieutenant Groves' politeness; Mrs. Somers worries that she's a burden to him and a hindrance to his duty; Mrs. Somers is deeply grateful to Lieutenant Gillette for his concern and understanding, and generally Mrs. Somers is so shy that she would rather avoid looking at the gentlemen's faces. Ah, pantomime is the easiest way of lying.

Lieutenant Gillette bows to me civilly, but rather stiffly and coldly. He's looking down at me, both literally and metaphorically, and his blue eyes are searching my face for a sign of treachery. I cease to smile, I bit my lower lip, then cast my eyes down (my lashes are longer and darker than before, thanks to Inci's sorcery). Mrs. Somers finds Lieutenant Gillette suspicious of her intentions, and she's embittered. What the hell does he want from the poor woman?...

When I look at him again, he's watching me with an open leer - that particular, knowing gaze of a man who tries to intimidate a woman in order to show where her place is. He thinks that a meek creature that I am, I'm trying to catch Groves in my thin cobweb which is doomed to tear at the slightest gust. Well, it is true that honest women have to bear in silence whatever opinions cynical men have of so-called "feminine nature". Gentlemen of the world - clergymen and laymen alike - delight in talking and writing about women's follies, weaknesses and shortcomings. Women have no choice but to listen, and whatever they hear from their fathers and husbands, they allow to soak into their minds. Thus they teach the same things about the supposed flaws of their sex to their own children - daughters and sons alike - and the circle is closed.

Fortunately, those poor, obedient creatures have also shrewd, wild, hardened sisters, who sometimes succeed in sneaking into their rigid, guilt-ridden world. I hope that such will be the case with my little devil carrying a child that is a sibling to the Governor's proud daughter. Guard my steps, Inci full of grace, I think, answering Gillette with straight, resigned, yet fairly vexed look ("oh, if such is your fancy, Lieutenant, feel free to insult a poor widow with your patronizing airs - she doesn't care for you anyway; she's here on business"), and turn away to look at the sea.

I will never forget how it feels to be on the deck, with only a fragile railing and a few planks and boards between you and the watery hell. You are constantly defying your Lady Death, and the more time you spend at sea, the less you think of her, because you grow accustomed to her. She doesn't chase you, she's always at your side, why notice her then?... You become full of pride like the Devil himself, good and evil become one, like the ocean is one with the horizon - the only thing you've got to do is to marvel at it and to revel in it. Oh, I want to go back to the sea, when Norrington's affair is over and when Inci is safe and settled; no more inns and streets for me.

I didn't notice when it became dark, and the scarce lanterns were lit. I'm standing and looking at the waves and the sky. I know I should get some rest before tomorrow, but somehow I can't force myself to go to sleep like the good civil folks who are dozing off on their bundles. My hair is damp, my skirt is wet, my lips taste of salt, but I cannot go away.

"Mrs. Somers?..."

I don't look at Gillette, I only make a little move to assure him that I'm listening.

"Lieutenant Groves asked me to apologize that he can't say good night to you. He has got some work to do."

Sure he has. I told him not to approach me anymore, promising him a sweet rendez-vous in Tortuga.

"If there is anything I could be of help..."

Something in Gillette's voice makes me look at him. He's standing at a polite distance from me, with his head bowed slightly, seemingly sincere in his offer.

"It has to be very inconvenient for you to sleep like that, Mrs. Somers, but we cannot provide any better accommodation. The Dauntless is a military ship... as you probably realize. Excuse me, if I seem too bold... but if you need anything to make your rest more agreeable, I am sure we have good blankets and the like."

I shake my head blandly and return to watching the waves. No, I don't want anything, thank you very much. I want to be alone with the sea and the night.

But Lieutenant Gillette obviously doesn't intend to leave. He stands not very far from me, as if waiting for me to speak. I bless Inci once again; I can remain silent without raising suspicion.

After a while I start to feel awkward in Gillette's silent presence, and finally I shoot him a nervous glance. He is standing over the water just like me, with both his hands on the railing, still maintaining that polite distance, so that he won't scare me away... or perhaps he just forgot about me. He isn't watching the waves; he's just staring ahead, his eyes surprisingly dark, his face whiter than before. I realize that his skin is rather pale for a Royal Navy officer. Even Norrington, his superior, has got more tan than Gillette. The boy probably doesn't spend much time at sea.

"Am I disturbing you, Mrs. Somers?" he asks quietly and surprisingly gently, without looking at me. "If so, just give me a sign and I'll leave you be."

I shook my head again, but much more gracefully this time.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

I'm not sure what he wants from me, so I keep my head slightly turned to him, to let him know that I'm paying attention, if he wishes to talk. I can see him in profile; he probably sees only my loose curls flying on the wind and the tip of my nose.

"Silence is good," he says. "Silence is healing. I suppose you must be tired of it, but I can never get enough. There's not much of it in soldier's life. I'd never imagined I would need it that desperately."

And silence is what I can give him very easily; I nod and start watching the waves again.

"You don't seem disturbed by the sea voyage, Mrs. Somers. You must be a very brave woman." He pauses. "I'm often reminded that the people who look most innocent and taciturn have usually much more courage than the loud ones... I learned that lesson many times and I always forget it."

I can feel a smile in his voice, and I guess he's asking for forgiveness. I turn to him.

"I owe you an apology," he continues. "I cannot tell how happy I would be if you were so kind as to accept it. But nonetheless please consider me your friend, a sincere one. Lieutenant Groves told me you're going back to London as soon as possible, but should you need any assistance while in Tortuga, do not hesitate to call upon me."

I smile and make a little embarrassed courtsey. Why, I would like to use the whole Royal Navy, if only there were any chance... but not as Mrs. Somers. What a pity!...

"I reckon it isn't your first visit to Tortuga."

I show him three fingers.

"Ah, the third. I see. Lieutenant Groves told me that your husband had certain... acquaintances there..."

Ah, it's the late Mr. Somers's love affair, I remember. Some abandoned woman in Tortuga seems to have borne the, uhm, fruit of sin and all that. I have to make use of my raisin-scented handkerchief to hide my false tears of false humiliation.

"... and although I have no doubt in your strength and courage, I'd suggest you rely on Lieutenant Groves or me, no matter how delicate the whole case may be."

I give him a look of gratitude, shake my head and smile. I'm a brave little woman, I am. Then I resume watching the waves. No, it's not Mrs. Somers' wish to talk any further about her husband's affair.

A while passes, and we are standing side by side, both bewitched by the night and the lights of the ship's lanterns on the waves. The watch changes; a soldier with a long, good-natured face salutes Gillette and asks for something, trying not to be loud, but he fails and looks at me apologetically. I smile and nod at him. A strange heaviness settles inside me; I hang my head. Maybe I should get some sleep after all.

"I shall not trouble you further, Mrs. Somers," says Gillette, bowing. "Please consider what I said. I would be honored to be of any help to you. If you don't think me worthy, I understand it, and I still remain in hope that you will eventually forgive me my previous rudeness."

He pauses.

"Not very long ago, I was a witness to certain young lady's love affair. The lady in question was - she still is - a fearless, bold, even adventurous young woman. She can speak and stand for herself, which is a rare and admirable thing for her sex. But in order to gain her goal and save her love, many good men lost their lives, the fastest ship of the Navy was destroyed, a criminal's life was spared, and a honest man who was deeply in love with her was hurt so badly he hasn't recovered yet." He becomes silent again, then resumes his speech after a while.

"From that time I'm not particularly well inclined towards courageous young women who fight for their love. They usually talk very much about their feelings, but I cannot help but perceive their words as mere noise. You are different, Mrs. Somers. I don't know much about you, but I feel that what guides your actions is a genuine devotion, which is something more than love. You are calm and selfless; you do not have to speak to justify yourself, your demeanor speaks for you. I am sure no one will try to hurt you on Tortuga; but if anyone does, they'll have to deal with me."

He then wishes me good night and goes away, leaving me with my mouth open in a quite unfeminine way. I don't know if I should curse, laugh, or just roll my eyes. Poor, poor, lonely chap!... What can I say or do? My only excuse is that I can mend some things which Miss Elizabeth and young Turner messed up - namely, Norrington's happiness and Sparrow's punishment. Oh no, wait, that would be Norrington's happiness OR Sparrow's punishment. I can't have both. Hell, I should go to sleep anyway.

When we finally reach Tortuga, I feel like flying. I have to get rid of those women's clothes as quickly as possible, and to go and find Sparrow. The Black Pearl isn't of course in the harbour; seeing that the Navy patrols are quite frequent at the moment, Sparrow probably had his ship careened elsewhere and anchored on the other side of the island.

I promise Groves that we will meet next day in a new inn called Marizapalos. It's relatively small, but prosperous and lively, its clientele mainly fishermen and their women. Despite the name, it's owned by an Englishman, and the only Spaniard there is his wife. The Marizapalos served me as a safe abode when I ran away from Sparrow; nobody remembered me there, so I can walk in wearing my ordinary clothes, with Inci's light-green dress, gloves and kerchiefs in the bundle under my arm. Norrington's pistol finds its usual place, my right hand gets wrapped in a piece of textile. I ask for a room, leave my effects there and get off in search of my one and only friend in Tortuga.

I find her not very far from the barn. I have to be very careful; I don't know where the Black Pearl's crew may be hiding, after all. She's carrying a bucket of water.

"Hey, Antonia! Is that you?"

She gasps, and the silvery liquid splash her tiny brown feet. No harm done, it's hot as hell, as usual. For a moment I almost panic that she may have forgotten me; but no. She carefully places the bucket on the ground and stands with her arms akimbo.

"Ritchie!..."

"You still remember me, my queen?"

"Sure I do," she says. "Did you come to kill Elias?"

"Actually, I have other business here, but yes, I can kill him before leaving."

"All right, you can kill him," she agrees cheerfully. "He's not that bad now, but I don't like him anyway."

"He's nicer to you now?"

"The captain with beads in his beard scared Elias, and he doesn't pinch me. He only kissed me once. But I don't like him."

"Is the beads captain staying in the Tres Morillas?"

"Yes, he likes it here. They sing and dance. Anamaria is very funny, I like her. Do you want to see them?" She smiles at me.

"Uh, well, I do, but not all of them..." I say, scratching my nose.

"They like you. I told the captain that you were afraid of them and you were hiding in the barn. Are you going to go there again? The captain said you can always talk to them, and they want to see you."

She's as reasonable as she can be, apparently trying to reunite all the people she likes. Her black eyes are full of sparks.

"They promised me they won't kill you if you show up here," she adds casually.

"No doubt they won't, but I don't have time to play with all of them now. Listen, Antonia, I have a little favor to ask of you, as before."

"What should I tell them?"

"Not them, only Captain Sparrow, all right?... The rest of them aren't supposed to hear what I want you to tell him."

"All right. What is this? Is it for me?"

I squat down.

"It's a Chinese coin," I say.

"Oh, it's funny."

It's one of Gibbs' trinkets. I took it off his neck when Inci and me carried him to the basement. I wonder where he got it from. Maybe from Little Chen, maybe from Sparrow, who has been to Singapore.

"Do you remember Mr Gibbs, Antonia?... The big man with the round face and the grey beard. The one that went to Port Royal."

"He went to Port Royal to see his sister."

"You're right, my queen. Give the coin to Captain Sparrow, but not now - in the evening. Give him the coin and tell him that Ritchie Brown wants to talk to him about Mr Gibbs."

Antonia looks up at me, narrowing her eyes. They are big, dark and wise.

"Where can he find you?"

"In the Marizapalos. Oh, and he is to come alone, or I'm not going to meet him."

I have her repeat what she is to tell Sparrow, and go to wander the streets. It's better not to go back to the inn before sunset. I can't eat, maybe due to the heat... or maybe I just remember too well what my Captain always told us: no eating before battle. I cannot be sure if there's not going to be some fighting, and nothing is nastier than a belly wound when you've stuffed said belly before getting said wound.

Finally the evening comes, and I'm sitting in the corner of the Marizapalos, watching the door, with a glass of wine - just for a decorum - before me and with my right hand on Norrington's pistol. The inn is slowly filling up, petty thieves in reed hats, girls in rags and smelly fishermen are chatting amiably, treading the freshly-sanded floor. I'm patiently waiting, with my mouth dry and all my senses strained - only to see Groves in civilian clothes making his way through the crowd which is getting more and more dense. He's looking for me, it's clear.

"What the hell are you doing here, officer?"

"I thought... I have to talk to you," he demands, his hands on the table. Luckily, he doesn't sit down.

"Not now, love. I'm waiting for someone."

"Your informer?"

"Aye, my informer. Go away, Theodore. She's very shy and easy to intimidate. Oh, and she likes handsome men. You stay and there's no conversation, with her staring at you all the time."

He closes his eyes and sighs, then rounds the table and comes to sit next to me.

"You're going to meet Sparrow here, aren't you?... Just tell me the truth."

I narrow my eyes.

"Where the hell did you get that from?..."

He embraces me with his left hand.

"I'm sorry, Ritchie," he whispers. "I'm really sorry."

The next moment... there's no next moment. Or wait, there is. It's glaringly white.

... And when I open my eyes again, I'm sure some time must have passed. I don't know how much, I don't know why. The only thing I am sure of is that everything's gone, and the white color I saw before losing consciousness was probably the last bright thing in my life.

Now my world is narrow, dark, foggy, painful and nauseous. The pain and nausea seem to be inseparable. What the hell is this?... Sure, I've been hit and wounded before, but this time... this time it's something new. I can't move my legs, I can't move my fingers, I can't even blink without that awful, heavy pain; and my stomach is leaping up and down like a baby goat. Oh, I want to puke - but I can't. I can't even breathe deeply. Oh God, what is this?...

No, no, calm down, Ritchie, God's not going to help you, if you don't try. I concentrate on my eyes; I close them and open, close them and open again. Good. After a few times I can do it without going mad with nausea. Then I try with my fingers; I can move them too. Ah, now that I've calmed down a bit, I feel that my body is still working. I'm just bound hand and foot. Well, no surprise there. But where am I?

I open my eyes as wide as I can. There is a wooden ceiling above me, no doubt. I'm lying on some bed. Is this the Marizapalos?... I can't see anything, so I try to move my head and I can't help hissing, for it hurts like a bastard. I succeed, though: there is someone sitting next to my bed. It's dark in here, but after a while I can make out a slender man with his legs casually crossed, his long hair hanging loose over his shoulders and gold shining in his smile.

"Good morning to you, Ritchie Brown," says Jack Sparrow.

tbc 


	6. By Fortune Bought and Sold

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney, and the title was taken from the song "'Twas Night" by Daniel Purcell (the song is public property now).

A/N: I'm SO sorry for the delay. What can I say? I hope you haven't forgotten me...

------------------------------

VI

"Oh, good morning to you, Captain," I answer gallantly.

Sparrow bursts out laughing.

"So now I'm your Captain, at last," he says. "What an honor to me!... Should be grateful to the rope, I s'ppose."

"If you must resort to the rope to make people pay respect to you..."

"Ah, but to be quite honest with ye, Ritchie, the whole rope thing ain't that much about respect. It's about cooperation."

I close my eyes. I don't have much wit or strength left to deal with jokes, wordplays, allusions and traps. My whole body is aching, my mouth is dry, a garrison of devils is dancing inside my head. I have lost the game. Inci's fearful face appears before me - "I told you not to mess with Sparrow" - and only now I can clearly see how self-conceited, vain and stupid I have been.

I open my eyes to look at Sparrow. He's watching me with that knowing grin of his, just waiting. A few men are standing behind him, quiet and sinister. I can make out Little Chen's bald head, Cotton's bandana, Victor's old cloak... it seems that the whole crew of the Pearl has gathered at the Marizapalos. My hands slowly grow cold. If these simpletons get into their heads that I've hurt their precious uncle Gibbs, they'll kill me even without Sparrow's orders.

Anamaria, standing by her captain's side with her hand on the pistol, tries not to look at me, but her hatred is stronger than her will, and her eyes assure me that she'd probably be the first to shoot. A dense face with bright eyes is looming over her shoulder; only after some time do I recognize that it belongs to Groves. Helpless fury and shame are rising inside me, and it takes all my will to stay calm. Is it my fate to die like an idiot?... There's got to be a way out of this!...

Then I suddenly realize that I still have the card named Gibbs, and I simply cannot give that card away. I can't let the Pearl's new captain and crew near Inci now, whatever the cost.

"Cooperation, huh," I say slowly, looking at my tied-up hands.

Sparrow casts his eyes down in quite a hypocritical manner. It really becomes him.

"No, don't ye even think about it."

"Come on, you have all your men with you here." I try to raise my head, but the nausea doesn't let me; there is also that little matter of my bloodied hair, stuck firmly to the pillow. "And I'm trussed up nicely anyway."

"You're reading me wrong again, Ritchie. It's not for our safety, it's for our pleasure that you're to stay just like that."

I'm about to say something dirty, but the next wave of pain breaks inside my head, and I have to close my eyes again. Nobody laughs. They don't want to laugh at me, they want me dead. So after the pain ceases I just look at Sparrow wordlessly.

"Very good." He is still on his guard, but there's a dry, cruel spark of triumph in his eyes. "It seems you at last understood our... let's call it mutual agreement."

"Alright, name your terms," I say with a heavy sigh.

"Aye, let's get everythin' clear." He leans his hands on his knees. "First, tell me where Gibbs is."

I raise my brows, waiting. But he's not going to proceed, he's waiting for me too. His black eyes are so deep that his face seems pale and smooth; he stares at me in demanding silence. No, I bloody can't believe it. He's so obviously, so brazenly convinced that I'll tell him all about Gibbs' fate just like that!... No, Jack Sparrow, 'tis not going to be easy for me, and not for you either.

"That's it?... That's all you want to know?..."

"No, that's what you wanted to talk about, innit?... You came a long way from Port Royal only to tell me about Gibbs. My men have been bored, of late, so we all gathered here to listen to your story."

"Whatever takes your fancy, Captain," I say, "but you see, somebody hit me on the head, and I've forgotten everything."

We're smiling at each other, flat silence is settling in the room. All I can hear is a fly buzzing at the window, and a woman's voice outside: "Antonia, Rico, vamos a cenar." I recognize that voice, it's Monica, Antonia's mother... but she is working at Tres Morillas, not at the Marizapalos!... Wait...

A sudden pain in my tied-up wrists remind me that I'm not free and I can't see where I am, no matter how I struggle; then the nausea seems to turn my stomach inside out.

"Oh, stop it, luv," I hear Sparrow's voice somewhere above my head, "you'd better lie still, 'tis dangerous to wriggle like that in your condition, you may get hurt again... Why, I'm not cruel, I can help ye satisfy yer curiosity; you guessed it right, we're at Tres Morillas."

Finally I manage to catch my breath; it's a pity that I can't throw up. My eyes are full of tears, my head aches so badly that I hear a constant, dull beat of a hammer inside my skull. What the blazes is happening to me?... I've never felt so pathetically sick... But I still can count on my anger, and in all my despair and pain I know one thing for sure: I'd rather die than tell them about Gibbs and Inci.

"So, let's go back to our little talk," Sparrow continues, observing me keenly. "It's up to you. Play nice an' it's not gonna cost you more than you can pay."

"And how much would it be?"

"Well, 'tis the whole course, Ritchie, and Gibbs is jus' the appetizer. The bill comes at the end."

I look innocently at him, at Anamaria, who's succeeded at last in fixing her gaze on the wall, at Groves biting his lips, then at Sparrow again.

"Told you already I don't remember anything."

He sighs and stretches lazily, as if prepared for my answer.

"I'm sure it can be helped," he says, throwing Anamaria a meaningful gaze. "Go an' tell Elias we're gonna need the basement, to cure poor Ritchie's memory."

"Wait," Groves cuts in. "What are you going to do?..."

Sparrow doesn't even look at him; it's Anamaria who answers with a malicious smile:

"You try to guess, officer."

"It was by no means part of our agreement, Jack."

Anamaria chuckles, Sparrow rolls his eyes.

"Of course it was, luv. We we agreed that I'd be asking him a few questions."

"It seems that 'asking a few questions' bears different meaning for the two of us," says Groves through gritted teeth.

Sparrow's smile vanishes from his face in an instant; he rises from his chair, slow and languid.

"And how do you propose we treat him, Lieutenant?" he hisses, stepping so close to Groves that he nearly touches him. "Fed him roasted fowl and lay him on a bed of roses?..."

Groves blushes, then pales again. It might be fun to watch him, were I in a different situation.

"He's Barbossa's lapdog and he's goin' to bite long after his master is dead."

"I told you I don't believe it, Jack."

"Didn't you watch yer friends killed and wounded that night in Port Royal?... Didn't you watch yer men killed and wounded that night near Isla de Muerte?... Didn't you watch the city burn?... In case you've forgotten, I'd be glad to remind ye that it was his dear captain who did it all. As for us - we don't care for yer lil' town or for the Navy, but we want Gibbs back. An' we will get him back." He turns to Anamaria. "Where's Elias?"

"He's gone to town," she answers. Fat Paco spits on the floor and comes closer.

"Ne'er mind, Captain, we'll get the work done," he says. "Let's take him to the cellar. He won't stand much pain, he's weak as a kitten."

"Elias wanted to do it," somebody reminds from behind. "An' he had it promised. Ye know, his brother..."

"No time for family matters, you morons," Anamaria calls out. "Let's do it quick."

Groves turns to Sparrow.

"I want to talk to him. Now," he demands.

I feel nauseous and start coughing. These who are free (that is all except me) are gesturing fervently and moving closer to my bed; and everybody begins yelling.

"That's what comes from parleyin' with them Navy officers!" (Anamaria. Brave girl.)

"If yer so delicate, ye can stay upstairs!" (Victor. I'm impressed, he can talk quite clearly when upset.)

"Gibbs is waiting for us! We gotta save him!" (Little Chen. Poor bastard, he wants his pirate family back.)

"All I want is a few words with Ritchie!" (Groves. A few words. Right.)

"So yer goin' to make him speak, eh, mister officer?" (Fat Paco. Did I kill his aunt or something?)

"Don't let the Lieutenant near him!" (Whoever said that... yes, please don't.)

Sparrow doesn't say anything, he's watching Groves thoughtfully. Anamaria notices that and barks at the rest:

"Hey, quiet, ye lot! It's Captain who's to decide!..."

It's the first time I hear her call Sparrow "Captain". She's definitely the cleverest of the lot. If she knew more about sailing, she'd probably lead the second mutiny.

"Step away, Theodore," Sparrow says slowly. His hand wanders casually towards his pistol. "'Tis none of yer business. We'll settle things in our own manner."

"Jack, I cannot let you torture a wounded man."

Thus my patience ends. In a flash of fury I forget the pain in my head, my nausea, my thirst, my fear.

"Oh, shut up, shut up, you bloody hypocrite! Sparrow, for God's sake, get him out of here!..."

The crew are looking at me agape, Groves' face changes its color from white to red. Sparrow grins broadly, sways over to Groves and pats him on the shoulder.

"How sad, Theodore, yer kindness isn't appreciated. Pearls before swine. Or it may be that he's found his memory, huh, Ritchie?... Maybe you've remembered where Gibbs is, eh?"

"Go check your hair, Captain," I suggest, "you've got plenty of things in there, and some of 'em are alive: maybe Gibbs is in there somewhere too."

Sparrow chuckles.

"See, he's alright," he says to Groves, "and gettin' better with every second. Don't worry, it won't be long until we reach a conclusion. Go and play with little Antonia or somethin'."

"Yeah, and don't forget to drink your milk, little Theodore."

"Save yer spit for later, ye mouthy bastard, yer gonna need it," Anamaria snaps at me.

Groves steps forward and looks around surprisingly coolly.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says to nobody in particular. "I helped you and maybe I can help you again, but I want a few words with him first. It won't take long. Captain Sparrow can stay with me, and here's a little for everybody who'd like to refresh themselves." And he places a few coins on a small table near the window.

The poor buggers look at each other, suddenly at a loss. Sparrow tilts his head and smiles, still watching Groves. Then his eyes go to me, then to Groves again.

"Fair enough," he says, "a few words won't do no harm. Anamaria, Little Chen, ye two stay outside at the door. The rest of ye may go and fetch yerselves a drink."

I close my eyes, listening to the shuffle of the feet. Well, it's not bad to be rid of the Pearl's crew for a while, but it's not good to be left with their captain and Groves, not good at all.

"I just wanted to know something."

Groves' voice is quiet, but distinct. It's as if he had been blind until now, and then suddenly regained his sight and tried to recognize the new world around him.

"Ritchie, I understand very well that you don't want to talk to me. I just wanted to explain a few things. As for now I'm not sure if I owe you any explanation, but here it is. I do not think that Captain Sparrow deserves arrest. I do not think he deserves to be hanged. I do not want Commodore Norrington to have to issue a death warrant. I do not want to assist you in soiling Norrington's hands. And... although you may call me a hypocrite, as I've become a kind of traitor myself, I still detest traitors and spies, especially those who send others to their deaths. Since our first encounter I've considered you a traitor to your own brethren. I know you've no sense of honor, no sense of duty, no magnanimity nor pride; but against my better judgement I pitied you and I wished you well. And you fooled me. You told me you hated Barbossa, you told me you were helping the law to hunt the likes of him. You didn't tell me it was Sparrow you wanted arrested. I thought he was your friend, since he's Barbossa's foe. I thought you respected and admired him, the way not only pirates do, but commoners as well."

I'm looking at him with my eyes wide open. So that's it!... The boy fell for Sparrow the very moment he saw him stealing the Interceptor with Bootstrap's son. He fell for that cursed grace and wit, which allowed Sparrow to sail away on a Navy ship without shooting a single man. He fell for this light smile and lean body, for this carelessness and intelligence behind a fool's mask. He fell for Sparrow just like Norrington did. But unlike Norrington, he had no qualms about contenting himself with me, and unlike Norrington, he still considers himself morally superior to me... and probably to Sparrow too.

"You lied to me."

Sparrow, who is sitting in the corner and rocking impatiently in his chair, sighs heavily.

"When will you decent folk learn?..." he murmurs. "Sure he lied to you, you had him at gunpoint. It's either be shot or cheat. Ye can't blame him for that. I'd do the same. An' frankly speakin', Theodore, yer wasting our precious time. He won't feel sorry jus' because yer preachin' to him now."

"I don't give a damn if he feels sorry or not," Groves answers through gritted teeth.

"Alright, it's about you feelin' sorry for him, right?... Well, for all we know he could be a Navy informer. Maybe he didn't lie to you at all."

Groves shakes his head. His eyes are full of hurt and sadness, and he reminds me of a priest talking to a convict before sending him to the gallows.

"And again, it's not what I'd like to know." He bows over me. "Ritchie, it doesn't matter if you're a Navy informer or not. But it seems you're playing your own game with us all. You know that Commodore Norrington is concerned about the remnants of Barbossa's crew. Some of them were reportedly seen on the Leeward Islands. Yet you came to Tortuga. You're after Sparrow, not after your former mates. Is there any truth in what he's just said?..."

My headache grows stronger, my vision becomes blurred for a moment, and I feel lost in all these well-rounded words. What on earth does he want from me, and who said what about what?...

"Hey, mate," I hear Sparrow's voice somewhere near Groves' head, "wait, you're losing him. Ritchie, move yer head up a little."

The mug is dirty, the water is tepid, but I'm afraid they'd take it away, so I gulp it down in no time, only to feel my stomach jump once again. Oh, no, I can't throw up now, I need that water, God only knows when I'm going to drink anything again.

"I'll make Little Chen bring us fresh water. What a damned hot day!... You'd better ask that one question, Theodore, an' do it fast. We won't be nursing him here more than necessary."

There is the sound of Sparrow's steps across the room and of the door cracking open. Groves looks back, then quickly grabs my shoulders and shakes me impatiently.

"Ritchie, do you hear me?..."

"Aye, I hear you," I answer sleepily. "Whaddya want?..."

Surprisingly enough, Groves' hands are torn off me in a moment. Damn that Sparrow's sneakiness.

"Hold it, luv, don't be rough," he says, "or else we'll just take him to the cellar. No?... Of course not, but ye haven't even asked him anythin'."

Groves blinks, turning to him.

"In a word, Ritchie," Sparrow continues, "he wants to know if yer, as I've put it, Barbossa's lapdog or not. That's what bothers him most. Apparently, he believed ye when ye told him how much ye hate yer beloved Captain."

Ah, that one. So the poor Lieutenant doesn't want to believe Sparrow, even if he is no longer able to believe me. But what difference would my confession make now?... There must be something I'm missing here. Since when are Norrington's men so scrupulously searching for my Captain's former crew? Why should they suddenly pose a bigger threat than Sparrow?... I've heard most of them were hanged. Even if Bo'sun has been hiding on Martinique, he alone can't be dangerous.

So he isn't alone. It's not him and not the crew the Navy is hunting. It's not the hyenas and jackals like me, it's the lion they are after.

I cannot help grinning slowly as I watch Groves clenching his fists.

"So that's it," he groans. "You are still loyal to Barbossa and you always were."

"God bless you, Lieutenant," I say, "there are only two men who betrayed him, Sparrow and Bootstrap, and it's very bad company to be in, if you ask me."

"I should have known better. I should have told Commodore Norrington. You dirty ungrateful bastard!..."

"Now stop it, luv," Sparrow chuckles, catching his hand, "I can't let ye beat a wounded man, remember."

"For God's sake, Jack, he's used us all!... I made the Royal Navy smuggle him out to Tortuga! He caught Gibbs and was about to catch you in his trap, all with the Navy's help!... Barbossa's men must already be alert that we're looking for them. And he's blackmailing Commodore Norrington..."

"Aye, sure, and it was me who gave the apple to Eve in Paradise..."

"He's blackmailing Norrington?... How'd ye know?" Sparrow asks him, frowning suspiciously.

"I-I don't know for sure, but there's something between them," says Groves helplessly, holding his head in both hands. "Oh God, what did I do?... Oh God... I feel sick."

Sparrow watches him, narrowing his eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about, Theodore?... Sick? Pull yerself together!... Ye did nothin' bad. I'm not goin' to threaten yer little town. I'm goin' to Cancun as soon as I get Gibbs back. I'm at war with the Spanish, actually, an' with my old enemies as well. And I think I can help your Commodore in his war with Barbossa." He throws me a glance, then looks at the door. "I wonder what's taking Little Chen so long," he adds, but he doesn't move; he's afraid to leave us alone.

"Just in case you haven't learned it yet, it's not good to socialize with pirates," I say to Groves. "You can't trust them either way. You don't trust ME any more, that's the first step, but now stop listening to Sparrow and go back to your friend Gillette, or you're going to regret this. Be a nice boy and go away, Theodore."

"Don't call me by my Christian name!" Groves snaps at me.

"Oooh, don't break my heart, sweetie," I say.

"I should've shot you that morning." He's almost shaking with hatred. "I spared your life. I wished you well. I tried to help you. I didn't want you to be a traitor to your brethren, but I pitied you and I despised your captain for what he did to you. And you betrayed me."

"Who betrayed whom!" I yell. "I didn't betray you, I only lied to you and that's a damn big difference!... It's you who sold me to Sparrow because of your delicate feelings!... Now let me put it straight, Lieutenant Groves, what I did for Barbossa, I did because I wanted to, not because he forced me. And if he's alive -"

"Now you're pretending you don't know!..."

"Leave it to us, Theodore," says Sparrow, dragging Groves away again. "We'll find out everythin' we need. But the most important thing now is Gibbs."

"Listen, Jack, he told me once about some girl he's visiting. A girl at the harbor."

Sparrow rolls his eyes.

"Aye, sure, a girl. What did he tell you at the Marizapalos?... That he was goin' to meet a girl, right?..."

"But still I think there was a girl in Port Royal. I can remember he smelled of perfume sometimes."

Sparrow scratches his nose, looking at me and then, quite curiously, at Groves.

"Uh... Theodore, don't take me wrong, jus' out of sheer interest... what exactly did he do to make you trust him?..."

Groves blushes; his lips are pressed into a thin line.

"Awww, I guess I know," says Sparrow, averting his eyes, "but whatever, mate. Ye want to talk to him some more?... No?... Then go outside an' wait a little, an' we'll ask Ritchie some questions in our own way."

He heads to the door, but Groves stops him.

"No, Jack, wait," he says firmly. "I want to be present."

Sparrow raises his brows, and for a moment a slightly disgusted look appears on his face.

"As ye wish, mate," he says plainly.

I close my eyes and try to breathe regularly, despite the wild, desperate heartbeat and the nausea which comes slowly back, only much more powerful. I'm thinking of Inci again. I recall her delicate, pathetic little figure with the grotesquely big belly, I see her restless dark eyes, I hear her trembling voice - "I told you not to mess with Sparrow"...

A sudden cry downstairs wakes me up like a slap. The whole shack is trembling as if it were to collapse; it seems that a huge group of men have entered Las Morillas at once. And they're not fishermen nor the harbour folk; I recognize the sound of solid, iron-clad boots, and the sound of weapons. It can mean only one thing.

I have to get out of here, God, please, I really, really have to... But how? The rope is hellishly tight, and I have no strength at all. Every move costs me blinding pain, and finally I feel so sick I have to stop and press my face to the pillow to stop myself from puking. Bloody hell. What is going on with me?... I don't think my head is broken, but...

"Captain! Run away, it's a trap!..."

It's Anamaria's voice, high and sharp. A pistol shot - not one, two - follow. I raise my head, and Groves rushes to the half-open door, only to withdraw back very slowly. I don't even have time to think what to try next. The room fills with red-jacketed Navy Marines.

Gillette is leading them, his round face all sweaty, his wig a bit askance, his nostrils wider than ever. I can see passion, zeal and battle-fever in his eyes. Two of his soldiers are dragging Sparrow with them, and I gasp. Is it possible that it was Groves who outwitted us all: Sparrow, Norrington and me?...

No, it isn't Groves. There is a look of such genuine terror on his tanned face that it seems almost gray. He's watching the group Ð the two soldiers and the pirate - in a stupor. I narrow my eyes and notice a ruddy stain on the uniform of one of the soldiers, then I look at Sparrow's waxen face and bitten lips. He's been shot. Blood is trickling down his right sleeve; his fingers are caked with it.

"Lieutenant Groves," says Gillette, gesturing to the rest of the soldiers with his still smoking pistol, "you're under arrest."

"Lieutenant Gillette, I can explain it, I..." begins Groves, his voice shaking oh so slightly.

"I'm sure you can explain everything, officer," Gillette cuts him coolly and officially. "I was surprised to discover that your recent extravagant conduct when on duty had all to do with your piratey acquaintances and nothing with the lovely Mrs Somers you were so kind to assist recently... by the way, where is she?..."

Our Father, who art in Heaven... Sub tuum praesidium... oh, to hell with that. No prayer in this world is going to save me now.

"If you distrusted me so much as to have me followed, you surely know where she is," answers Groves bitterly.

"I have concerns much more important than spying on a pretty young widow," retorts Gillette, "although I must say I'm a little bit worried about her fate. She seemed quite brave, but a place like Tortuga is dangerous... and I hoped you'd help her instead of fraternizing with pirates."

"If ye please, Lieutenant Gillette, sir..."

Sparrow's voice is more slurred than usual, and it's lost most of its previous briskness, but its soft charm and self-confidence makes everybody turn their head. Sparrow smiles slowly, his eyes are almost shut, his head tilted back. He's losing blood very fast.

"Ye say yer Mrs Somers came to Tortuga on the same ship as Lieutenant Groves, aye?... Well, then I think I know where she is."

"What did you do to her, you scoundrel?..."

"Nothin' yet."

"Where is she?"

"Over there, on the bed," says Sparrow, pointing royally towards me.

Gillette turns to look at the bed with a gasp of horror, which is swiftly changed into a gasp of dismay. Groves hides his face in his hands.

"I was so sure I'd seen you somewhere, Mrs Somers," says Gillette, raising his brows. "Now I remember... and to think that I was trying to recall all the ladies who came after their husbands to Port Royal... chapeau-bas, Ritchie Brown."

"Oh... have we met before, Lieutenant?"

"Quite some time ago, in the Red Stocking," he answers. "You were having a conversation with Commodore Norrington. Drunken as I was, I didn't forget you, neither your face nor your name."

Ah. So in fact it was him, not Groves, who was watching me and Norrington that night. I cast down my eyes modestly; there is nothing witty I can say.

"Lieutenant Gillette, sir," whispers some young soldier, "Captain Sparrow... I mean Sparrow, sir... I think he needs a doctor."

Sparrow is indeed very pale and trembling; he's probably cold from the loss of blood. His eyes are shut now.

"Sit him here on the chair and try to staunch the blood."

"Why did you shoot him?" asks Groves quietly.

"He had his pistol ready. The rest managed to escape, unfortunately." Gillette frowns. "Don't ask me any more questions, Lieutenant. I remind you you're under arrest. Sergeant, take Lieutenant Groves' weapons."

Sparrow is quite alert during the whole procedure. They put a temporary dressing on his shoulder wound and take him off the chair. Then at Gillette's orders one of the soldiers cut my bonds, and another nudges me to get me up. The problem is that I can't even sit straight, let alone stand up.

"We're going to the ships now," Gillette says. "It's a pity that the rest of the Black Pearl's crew weren't caught, but I dearly hope Commodore Norrington will be contented with the captain. And Mrs Somers. What's wrong with you, pirate? Move on, we're not leaving you here."

I bit my lip. Oh no, it can't be... but the only thing I succeed in doing is tearing my hair off the pillow. Then I try to sit up, leaning on my hands, but my head spins around, my stomach leaps up, and I spew all the water I've drunk over the soldier's leather boots.

"Oh, damn you," he says and slaps me. Uh, Ritchie, welcome back to your regular pirate life.

Gillette sighs.

"It seems he can't make it alone," he concludes. "You two, help him downstairs. Sergeant, take two men and borrow a cart with a mule or something, we can't be walking to the harbor with them."

The way to the harbor was very short to me. Maybe it was long, though, I don't know. I blacked out; I think that Sparrow did too. I regain consciousness at the smell of bilgewater, rotting wood and mold; I watch as the soldiers open the brig and let Sparrow walk in first; then I'm pushed inside.

Gillette is watching us from the top of the stairs. I don't know where Groves is; arrested or not, apparently his mate doesn't want him to spend his hours with Sparrow and me.

"Lieutenant Gillette, sir," says one of the soldiers shyly, "maybe we should keep these two apart?..."

"You're afraid that they'll murder one another, is that so?..." Gillette smiles at him. "Well, it may save us some trouble, after all."

Before they close the door at the end of the stairs, I manage to catch the cold glow of Sparrow's eyes in the dark. 


End file.
